Stuck in the Middle With You
by Chasing Rabbits
Summary: After the death of Kenny's dad, Stan and Kyle return to South Park with their two sons to offer their friend support and in the process end up rediscovering themselves and their relationship. Kenny, on the other hand, is just trying to keep his own crumbling family together for as long as possible, and could definitely use some help. Style & Bunny
1. Chapter 1

_"Trying to make some sense of it all,  
But I can see that it makes no sense at all,  
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor,  
'Cause I don't think that I can take anymore  
Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right,  
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you."_

**Chapter 1**

City life is drastically different from living in South Park. It seems obvious to say, but it's true nonetheless. Back in South Park, Kyle knew every single one of his neighbors by name, knew what they did for a living, and knew each's general demeanor. He knew who offered him lemonade on hot days and who turned the sprinklers on him if he dawdled in front of their house for too long. Hell, he could probably still name everyone on his parents' street if you gave him the chance.

Kyle and Stan have lived in Littleton for… fuck, for close to twelve years almost. They've lived in their current place now for about seven, and Kyle honestly couldn't tell you the name of anyone except the people on either side of him. It's not that it's any less friendly than South Park, it's just less quaint and everyone's not as into each other's business as they are there.

And _still_ Stan and Kyle have managed to become '_that_ _alternative family'_, even without the nosy neighbors, just because they're a pair of dudes who got it into their heads that it'd be a good idea to raise a couple of kids together.

Honestly, Kyle thinks Stan may have drugged him—there is no way in hell Kyle agreed to less sex, less sleep, and more mess than he's ever seen in his life.

In reality it had started as all of their half-baked schemes did (and sometimes still do): drunk in the Marshes' basement. It had been right before they moved, they'd been dating for maybe a little under a year, and Stan had mentioned kids. He wanted kids, Kyle knew this. "_Stan Marsh, Libra, black hair, blue eyes, wants kids_", it's always been a thing with him. Kyle didn't oppose the idea as much as took on his usual role of "voice of reason".

"Kids are expensive, Stan," he'd said. "And require a certain level of adulthood we _do not_ have."

Stan had looked at him, midway through dissecting an Oreo with a necktie tied over his forehead, and said with glassy eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

So, Kyle wrote down a number on the back of a TV Guide and handed it to Stan. "If you still want kids by the time we have that amount of money in savings, then we'll do it," he'd declared as Stan's eyes practically bugged out of his skull.

"People have that much money just lying around?!" he'd yelped and Kyle had laughed… and then they'd had sex on the couch and passed out on top of each other.

Kyle had been thinking they'd get to that point financially maybe sometime in their mid-thirties. Somehow they'd managed to reach ten years earlier than expected, and Stan didn't miss a beat. Kyle had attempted to argue that they should wait a little longer, but then Stan made this stupidly convincing puppy face at him and that was that.

A about a year and a half later, they were parents.

Kyle stares at the picture he's got set as his desktop at work. Kyle snapped it back on the first day of school in September. Ethan had been starting first grade, Henry preschool. They're holding hands (because Kyle is unfortunately his mother's son and will not rest until his boys at least look like they love each other), and relative to where they measure up against Stan, who's crouching right behind them, Kyle's pretty sure they're both about a foot taller than they were only nine months or so ago.

Ethan's lost a few teeth out of that big, chubby-cheeked smile since this picture, and Henry's hair has gotten so wild and curly that Kyle's pretty sure it'll gain sentience soon and take over the city. He doesn't want it cut, however, says he likes having big hair.

Kyle does not get that kid.

The clock on his desktop hits six and like that, Kyle's done for the day. Today's the first day of summer vacation, which means Stan's probably run ragged and passed out on the couch while their sons take turns jockeying their dog in the back yard or something.

Kyle grabs his phone and calls up home as he does some last minute organizing of his desk.

"H'lo?" comes Stan's thick, sleepy mumble, the one that sends chills up Kyle's spine every time it hits his ears.

"Hey, I'm on my way home in a few minutes," he says.

"Saints be praised," Stan yawns. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I'll pick something up," Kyle says and checks his watch. "Pizza okay?"

"Pizza on a Monday?" Stan seems to be giving it wry consideration. "I don't know why you'd try to wage war on me for favorite parent—I didn't do anything to you."

"Mm, maybe I just feel like playing dirty," Kyle grins.

"Never. Did anything. To you," Stan reiterates, before adding, "Except love you."

"There's your problem," Kyle nods as he shuts off his laptop and slides it into his bag. "You just care too much."

"It's my fatal flaw," Stan yawns again. "See you when you get home, fucker."

"Love you," Kyle smiles.

"Love you t—hmm?—Oh, Henry would like to inform you that he also loves you."

"Tell him I'm selling him to the circus," Kyle snorts.

"Daddy loves you too, baby," Stan says instead.

"That was slander, Mr. Marsh," Kyle shakes his head as he slings his bag over his shoulder. "I demand you retract that statement."

"Getting off the phone now," Stan deadpans back. "See you soon."

"Bye," Kyle says and hangs up, a ridiculous smile plastered on his face as he heads out of his office and down the hall. He passes by Cynthia's door and gives her a wave—she's his boss, and the only person in this office who's been here as long as he has. She likes Kyle, always has, and Kyle has to admit that he likes her back.

"Hey, wait a second," she calls after him, and Kyle stops. She never asks him to stay late, but he always has that lingering fear in his gut that one day she will, and he'll get home after the boys have gone to bed and Stan will be too tired to stay up and hang out with him.

"Yeah?" he asks when he goes back to lean on the doorway to her office. She looks up from her computer and takes her glasses off her round face, smiling at him.

"I was just going over your hours," she says. "Do you know you have three months of vacation time you've saved up?"

"Ah, I did not," Kyle shakes his head. He doesn't like to take vacations, just in case one of the boys has an emergency and he has to stay home with him. It's happened a few times before, like when they and Stan all had the flu and Kyle had to be caretaker.

"The company's switching policies at the end of the year," she says, "We only get an allotted amount of time per year, won't roll over anymore."

"Huh," Kyle frowns. "That's kind of fucked. What if I need that time?"

"I don't know," she shakes her head. "What I'm saying right now, though, is that you should use the hours you have. I don't know, leave the kids with your mom and take Stan on a romantic getaway for a week or something. You've been working here for twelve years and you haven't taken a vacation in six. You deserve a break, honey."

Kyle laughs a little and shakes his head, "I'll think about it. See you tomorrow, Cynth."

He gives her a little wave and rushes out of the office before anyone else can stop him.

Three months of vacation time… to be honest, he didn't think it was possible. He works a lot, he knows, but that's because he has to. Stan is just getting back into working steadily after practically seven years of basically freelance writing for various blogs, websites, and publications. Mostly he does stuff like reviewing concerts and new albums or musicians, but recently he's gotten a few film reviews published, which he's been really excited about. Writing isn't enough to make a living on, unless you're Stephen King or JK Rowling or someone; Kyle has to fill in the cracks and keep everything running smoothly with a steady job and paycheck.

It wouldn't be fun living on Kyle's salary alone now that they have the boys, but he's crunched the numbers several times. They could do it; they don't live the most extravagant lifestyle. Combined, they live pretty comfortably, though.

Kyle picks up a large cheese pizza on his way home, telling himself he'll make a salad too, even though he knows it's a dirty, dirty lie. They're big slices—the boys will each have one, and Stan and Kyle will be left to finish the rest of the thing themselves.

He's not even mad.

The boys have gotten to the point where they recognize the sound of the garage door opening, so they, along with the dog, sit and wait until Kyle comes in the door so that they can tackle him when he walks in. Today is no different, and luckily Stan is there to intercept the pizza the moment Ethan collides with his entire lower half, and Kyle lets out an all too real "oof!" that makes Stan smile and shake his head.

"Hi, boys," Kyle grins as Henry latches onto one of Kyle's legs, and looks up at Stan. "Hey, dude."

"Hey," Stan beams and gives him a peck on the lips. Kyle can't think of a better welcome to come home to, even if he admittedly does have his days where he wants nothing more than to go into his and Stan's room and smother himself with a pillow.

"Hey, Herpus and Derpus," Stan looks down at the boys, "Dad brought pizza home for dinner. Wasn't that nice of him?"

The amount of excitement these kids experience over pizza is actually mindboggling to Kyle. He can't ever remember having been that excited about anything ever, let alone pizza. Ethan barrels off to follow Stan and wash his hands, while Henry holds fast onto Kyle's leg and nuzzles him lovingly.

"Hey, Derpy," Kyle says and reaches down to pet at the mop of soft brown curls on Henry's head, "Time to let go of my leg."

Henry just shakes his head. "No," he giggles and looks up at Kyle with a ridiculous grin scrunching up his freckled face. Kyle grins and rolls his eyes before swooping down and scooping Henry up into his arms. Henry lets out a shrieking giggle, which only gets louder when Kyle pushes a raspberry to his cheek and spins him around.

He loves both of his boys equally and all that stuff, but there's just something about this little twit that makes Kyle's heart too full for words.

"Did you have a good day, dork?" he asks, and Henry gives an emphatic nod. "Yeah? What'd you do?"

"Um," Henry says, big brown eyes flicking off to the side as he tries to remember. "Me and daddy and Ethan, um, we all went to the park, and we went on the swings, and then I went on the slide. And then when I got home I took a nap all by myself."

Kyle's actually genuinely surprised to hear this. "All by yourself?" he asks, like it's too good to be true. This kid hates sleeping, has the metabolism of a fucking field mouse or something, and he can only usually do it when Kyle's there, reading to him or rubbing his back.

He goes into the kitchen, where Stan's getting out a small stack of paper plates (because they are, indeed, the classiest family in the neighborhood) and Ethan's washing his hands and making bubbles with the dish soap. Kyle attempts to put Henry down in a chair at the dining table, but he refuses to let go of him.

"No," Henry whines again and hides his face in Kyle's neck. Kyle rolls his eyes and looks over at Stan.

"I thought you said you napped," addressing Henry, but watching Stan for a cue to the actual truth. Stan just looks at Kyle and shrugs.

"He did," he says. "All by himself, as I'm sure you heard."

"I did," Kyle nods and moves to detach Henry's hands from his neck. "How'd you manage that?"

"Eh, Indy got off his leash in the park," Stan shrugs, fighting an amused little smile.

"Stan!" Kyle exclaims, and immediately goes to check Henry for scratches or bruises. Indy is their big Great Dane-Bull Mastiff mix who's a little too rambunctious for his own good. He's good-intentioned, but doesn't quite seem to understand that Henry is not Ethan (who is a brick wall, impossible to knock over).

"Dude, calm down," Stan rolls his eyes. "He likes chasing animals. Nature's babysitter: embrace it."

"Indy and I found squirrels!" Henry insists loudly, looking at Kyle like there's a chance that he might not believe him.

"Stan, that dog is the size of a house," Kyle says imploringly. Henry is a little guy, reedy and spindly even with his layers of baby fat. Ethan knocks him over just when he passes by him too quickly, and Henry is a textbook crier, so even the slightest disturbance is usually enough to get him going.

"It got him to nap, what are you complaining about?" Stan sticks out his tongue. Kyle sticks out his right back, since it's no longer appropriate to go into the long strings of inappropriate name-calling they could get away with before the boys had started talking.

They eat pizza and listen to Ethan go on about how he played Pokemon with his friend Manzanita from school, all while Stan chased Indy and Henry throughout the park.

"Sounds like fun," Kyle says.

Stan nods tiredly, "I could barely contain myself."

Kyle reaches down under the table and gives Stan's knee a reassuring squeeze. They clean up and turn the boys loose to play before bedtime. Kyle's in charge of that, of mentally wrestling them into submission so they're just worn down enough not to make a fuss.

Ethan is better at going to bed at night—he's like Stan, in that Stan is somehow able to sleep for sixteen hours a day and not think anything of it. A little more effort is required on Henry's part, since his favorite pastime is getting Kyle to laugh, and Kyle is very bad at pretending Henry's not funny.

By the time Kyle reads through _One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish_, Ethan's already snoozing soundly in his bed, clutching his R2-D2 pillow close to his face and looking way too much like Stan for his own good, with his pudgy face and his messy black hair and generally sweet demeanor.

"All right, derpus," Kyle yawns and shuts the book. He looks down at Henry, who's clutching his ratty old teddy bear and sucking his thumb and looking up at Kyle with big, watery eyes. "Time to sleep."

"No," Henry whines again and wraps his arms as best he can around Kyle's middle.

"You know," Kyle says softly as he starts rubbing his hand over Henry's back. "One day you're going to have to learn how to do this without me here."

Henry yawns and nuzzles further into Kyle, unconcerned by this prospect. Kyle knows he's about as far off from that day as Henry is. Ethan is seven already, has a mind of his own when it comes to most things—Henry is still four, still needs his dad in a way that Ethan doesn't like to admit to.

When it's clear Henry's almost asleep, Kyle bends down and kisses him in his hair. "I love you, sweetheart," he says, and with that detaches Henry from his person so he can slip out the door. He pads softly down the hall into his and Stan's room, where Stan is face down on the bed and looking a little like he's never going to move again.

"Hey," Kyle says and crawls up beside him, rubbing his hand over his back and nosing at his cheek. "Long day, huh?"

"Don't talk to me, I'm dead," he mutters into the covers. Kyle grins and shifts so Stan is cuddled against him. Stan is too tired to fight it, just yawns and settles into his chest. "God, you'd think I fed them crack for breakfast or something. It never fucking ends with those two."

"Well, I found out something interesting today," Kyle yawns and nuzzles into Stan's hair. "Cynthia called me into her office before I left. Apparently the company's switching to a new system with vacation days and sick days and shit, so I've got three months of vacation time to spend before the end of the year."

"Really?" Stan looks up at him. Kyle nods and gives him a kiss on the lips.

"I could help you out this summer," he says. "We could take them to the zoo, go see movies, maybe go take them to see our parents for a few days… do whatever. And we'd get to hang out a little more too."

Stan moans a little and nods. The sound does something to Kyle, it always has, ever since he first heard it. It makes his heart race and his palms get all sweaty, makes him want to push Stan back on the bed and go at it all night. He kisses Stan again, more deeply this time, and trails his hand down his side. Stan moans again into Kyle's mouth when Kyle grabs his ass through his pants and pulls away.

"Are they both asleep?" Stan asks, and Kyle's heart starts hammering against his chest even harder. He nods, and Stan grins back at him before giving him a resounding, "Good", and pinning him against the bed.

"Fuck," Kyle laughs a little as Stan starts kissing his neck. "Don't start anything you're not gonna finish, dickhead."

Stan just sticks out his tongue and pushes his fingers up Kyle's shirt, fingers slipping over his skin and making him feel hot and itchy all over.

"You took your contacts out," Stan grins, indicating the thin-framed glasses on Kyle's face.

"Yeah, you like that?" Kyle chuckles.

"Oh yeah," Stan gives a facetious nod as he thumbs over Kyle's nipples. "And your baggy K-Mart sweats and your 'I Heart Idaho' shirt… where the fuck did you get that?"

"Fuck you!" Kyle pokes him in the side. "Ethan threw up on the shirt I was wearing a while back and Kenny didn't want this one anymore, so I took it."

"Whatever," Stan laughs and kisses him again. "You're sexy as fuck."

"Mm, you too," Kyle hums and wraps his arms around Stan's neck. "You smell like sunscreen and dog hair."

"Eh, this was my last clean shirt when I put it on this morning," Stan yawns and rests his forehead against Kyle's. "I'll do laundry tomorrow, like a good house husband… no chance you can take tomorrow off, huh?"

"Cynthia would probably want a warning," Kyle yawns back. "But hey, I could take Wednesday off or something. Call a sitter maybe, get a day to ourselves?"

"Dude, if I could just get a day bumming around the house with you fuckers, I'd be golden," Stan yawns again.

"Stop yawning, dick," Kyle shoves him half heartedly, on the end of another yawn.

Stan sticks out his tongue and pinches Kyle's nipple through his shirt before he continues, "I'd like a day where I don't have to get out of my pajamas, I can make you make me pancakes and watch TV with you, the boys can play outside, and we can just… chill. I miss that, dude," Stan admits softly and brushes at a bit of Kyle's hair. "I miss you."

That alone is enough to make Kyle's chest hurt, because he misses Stan too. It's a little silly to think you can miss someone you sleep next to and see every night, but apart from working, hanging with and managing their kids, and getting everyone ready for bed, they hardly have a moment to themselves to just _breathe_.

"Shit," Kyle sighs and cups Stan's cheek in his hand. "Shit, dude… maybe I _should_ take a chunk of time off. Like, not all at once, but maybe a few weeks? Could be good, right?"

"Seriously?" Stan sits up, straddling Kyle's hips. "Dude, if you did, I'd shit bricks. I'd be so happy."

"Yeah?" Kyle smiles. He likes making Stan happy. "Fuck it, I'm gonna do it. I'll go in tomorrow and request time off… a week, you think?"

"Such a rebel," Stan shakes his head, wry amusement playing over his face. "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the man I love."

"Fine, two," Kyle laughs and sticks out his tongue. "Twist my arm."

It's totally worth it to see Stan smile at him like that. Kyle pulls him down into a kiss, soft and slow and holding the promise of turning into so much more. They don't get to do this too often, just lie on their bed and make out like they're twenty-three instead of thirty-three. It's a miracle they have energy to do anything these days, but Kyle doesn't question it. He grinds up against Stan and just hopes against hope the boys have enough decency to stay asleep through the night… or at least through the next hour or so.

Except it's not the kids that get them. Kyle doesn't have his hands in Stan's pants for two seconds before their house phone rings, a loud and abrasive tone that is just right for waking up little boys. Kyle and Stan both scramble for it immediately, though being all tangled together does prove to make it a little difficult and ends with Kyle on the floor and Stan answering the phone.

"Hello?" Stan answers, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he flops over the side of the bed. Kyle gets onto his knees and nips at his chin. "Oh, hey Kenny, what's up?"

Kyle kisses Stan's lower lip just as Stan gives a little pout, "Are you all right, dude?" Kyle frowns a little at that, but before he can say anything, the door to their room opens and Ethan comes shuffling in, rubbing his eyes and immediately going to cuddle up against Kyle.

"Hey, dorkus," he says softly and kisses Ethan's dark mop of hair. "Phone wake you up?"

Ethan nods and hides his face in Kyle's neck.

"And Henry woke up and turned on the light and now I can't sleep," he whines sleepily. "Who's on the phone?"

"It's Uncle Kenny," Kyle says and looks up at Stan again, who's looking more than his fair share of concerned as he sits upright.

"Yeah, dude," Stan nods. "Yeah, of course we'll be there. I'm—yeah. Yeah, we'll see you soon, dude. Love you."

He clicks the phone off and just gives Kyle this weird look of disbelief.

"His dad died," he says plainly, simply, and it gets Kyle to actually pause for a second. Stuart McCormick is dead. That's a weird thought to think, especially since Kyle's known the man since he was a kid. He likes to think he's still too young to have his friends start losing their parents, and Kenny's parents are significantly younger than Stan's or even his own.

"Ow, dad, you're hurting me," Ethan whines, and Kyle immediately lets go of where he was squeezing his shoulder.

"Sorry, bubs," he says softly, kissing Ethan's cheek again and holding him close. He made the mistake of saying 'bubbelah' once—fucking _once_—and Stan's never let him forget it. If he uses 'bubs', he can usually get away with it. That, and it sounds a lot like 'boobs' and it's starting to make Ethan laugh.

"He, uh," Stan swallows. "He just died a few hours ago, I guess. They don't know about the funeral or anything, but… dude, I kind of want to go be there for him. That fucking sucks."

Kyle sighs and rubs his hands over Ethan's back, overwhelmed entirely by the fact that Stan is so… ugh, he's just so kind and caring that it's actually frustrating sometimes. Kyle would've been fine with going to the funeral, hanging out for a little while after maybe, but Stan goes and says something like that and suddenly he feels like a dick for not automatically thinking it himself. Kenny's been their best friend for _thirty_ years, plus or minus a few rough patches here and there. Of course they have to be there for him. Of course they do.

"I'm gonna talk to Cynthia tomorrow," he says.

"About what?" Ethan asks, pulling away from Kyle to climb up onto his and Stan's bed. Kyle rolls his eyes, because now it seems they'll be sharing their bed tonight. He's about to put his foot down when Stan just shakes his head and scoops Ethan into a hug.

"Henry," Stan calls, only to be met with a quick, "I didn't do anything! Ethan's lying!"

"I am not!" Ethan shouts and looks at Kyle, shaking his head as he hears Henry's trademark heavy footfalls coming down the hall. "He's lying," Ethan pouts, looking to Kyle in what looks like a plea for sanity.

"I know," Kyle nods as Henry bursts into the room and leaps into Kyle's arms without warning.

"I didn't do it," Henry whispers, and gives Kyle an innocent grin when Kyle looks sternly back at him. Henry grins for a few more seconds before gathering that Kyle's not in the mood for his games and promptly curls in on himself, sucking his thumb and clutching Kyle's shirt in the other hand.

"Is this because Uncle Kenny's dad died?" Ethan asks out of nowhere, sprawled out against Stan's chest. Ethan's always been ten steps ahead of what's happening, but it never ceases to surprise Kyle. Stan just bites his lip and smoothes his hand over Ethan's messy dark hair.

"Yeah, baby," he says, kissing him softly on the top of the head as Kyle heaves him and Henry up off the floor and onto the bed. "He just died a few hours ago."

"Uncle Kenny has a dad?" Henry asks.

"Yeah," Stan says. "Everyone has parents, sweetheart."

"Oh," Ethan nods vaguely. "Well, we didn't know him _that _well."

Kyle smacks himself on the forehead as Stan comes to pinch at the bridge of his nose, both actions spawning a string of giggles from the boys. It's something straight out of the Kyle Broflovski handbook: chapter 10, entitled "Why Are You Sending Me Holiday Newsletters".

"Even so," Kyle says very firmly. "Uncle Kenny and your mom are going to be having a hard time. And since we're their family, it's our job to be there for them."

It's lost on the boys, though. They're both fading fast, rapidly slipping into sleep, and Kyle knows anything else they could say wouldn't make any difference.

Stan and Kyle both tote their respective sleepers back to their beds before heading back to their room and shutting the door behind them.

"You don't think Karen's actually going to come back, do you?" Stan asks as Kyle sits on the edge of the bed. "Like, after all that?"

Kyle leans back on the bed and mulls over the sentiment. When Karen had offered to be their surrogate for Ethan, Stuart had kicked her out of the house. Kenny had still been living in Reno then, so she'd come to stay with Stan and Kyle. When she'd offered to be Henry's surrogate, Stuart had stopped talking to her. It didn't matter that Kenny had been back by then—she'd taken the money Kyle and Stan had given after Henry was born and used it to buy a one way ticket to New York City.

As far as Kyle knows, she and Stuart hadn't talked since, and he's pretty sure that Kenny's relationship with her is pretty rocky.

"I don't know," Kyle finally concludes. "You and your dad don't really talk, but you'd still go to his funeral, right?"

"Not if he asks which one of us carried our kids to term again," Stan groans and sits on the bed next to Kyle.

"Ugh, I forgot about that," Kyle leans forward and puts his face in his hands. "But still… you'd go to your dad's _funeral_, wouldn't you?"

Stan sighs and rests his chin on Kyle's shoulder. "Yeah, I would," he says softly. "Look, if you can't get the time off yet, I can go and take the boys with me, and you can meet us there."

"What, you want to go tomorrow or something?" Kyle frowns and turns to look at Stan.

"Dude, Kenny's our best friend," Stan says back. "It's just him and his mom and the kids there—you know his mom's probably a wreck, which means he's taking care of all the funeral arrangements on his own. Kyle, he can barely dress himself in the morning, do you really think he's qualified to be doing this on his own?"

Kyle sighs and falls back on the bed. "I want to go with you guys," he sighs, more upset than he probably should be. Stan senses this, because he's amazing and they've been reading each other's minds for decades now, and pets over Kyle's cropped curls.

"You get to do all the fun shit with them," Kyle sighs and leans into Stan's touch. "I hardly see them, I hardly see you… if we're going to make a family affair out of this whole thing, I'd like to do it _as a family_, you know?"

Stan nods and hugs Kyle close to him, saying softly, "I know." He kisses Kyle's earlobe, and then his cheek, then his forehead, nose, and chin before finally settling on his lips. Suddenly Kyle feels very un-stressed.

"You're an asshole," he murmurs against Stan's lips.

"I'm awful," Stan agrees, kissing Kyle again. "I know. How dare I try to make you feel better."

"Dick," Kyle sticks out his tongue. He thinks they fall asleep like that, somewhere after Stan cupping Kyle through his pajama pants and their impromptu yawning contest. They fall asleep on top of each other, in their bed that smells like them, in their own room down the hall from where their kids are sleeping soundly, in their own house, in their own life that they've built together.

Kyle wants to get to know that life again.

* * *

**Hi guys. New chaptered fic, isn't it exciting. This story is going to be divided up between Style and Bunny fairly evenly, with a little more emphasis on Style (hence, the categorization). **

**The title of this fic and the quote on the top are from _Stuck in the Middle With You _by _Stealers Wheel._  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Kyle had this lengthy explanation planned about why he'd need a few weeks off when he went into work this morning, but he didn't even get past the first part of his spiel before Cynthia told him to get the hell out of there. A quick call to Stan to tell him he was on his way home resulted in coming home to suitcases halfway packed and little boys plopped placated in front of the TV, dressed and ready to go.

They load up the kids, stick Indy in the back of Stan's Explorer, and they're on the road by noon.

It is a miracle that Kyle doesn't dare question.

They've only just made it to the highway when Henry starts, "Were are we going?"

"To see Uncle Kenny and your cousins," Kyle says as he checks his email on his phone. He has fifteen new emails since he last checked, all from work. "Fucking unbelievable…" he mutters.

"Dude," Stan interjects. "If you're just going to be on the phone the entire time I'm strapping you to the roof."

This earns a giggle from the peanut gallery and an eye roll from Kyle. "I don't _want_ to be on my phone," he explains. "My coworkers are all just…" he lets out a frustrated growl in lieu of saying what he would if there weren't little kids in the car.

"Then don't look at the phone," Stan offers. "I have shit I should be doing too, but I'm putting it the fuck on hold."

Kyle purses his lips and goes back to the email, scrolling through and groaning at the end. "Yeah, Steve, I can access your fucking server from my car…" he mutters. "Dick."

"Kyle, I swear to God, I will throw that fancy piece of shit iPhone out the fucking window if you don't put it away," Stan snaps.

Kyle actually jumps at that and exits out of his email. Stan isn't the scary one between the two of them—he gets upset, he gets sad, and yeah, he gets mad, but Kyle is the one with the temper.

"Uh, here, Ethan," Kyle passes his phone back. "Play Angry Birds or something. And if I get an email don't worry about it."

"I want to play too!" Henry crosses his arms and kicks the back of Kyle's chair.

"Whoa, that's not okay," Kyle turns around to give him a stern look. This, of course, only results in Henry kicking harder. He even starts in on the waterworks when Kyle very calmly tries to explain, "Ethan is playing with it right now, you'll get a turn after him."

Henry starts in on a relentless kicking spree that only results in Kyle shouting, "Now you don't get a turn! How about that?"

"Oh, fuck," Stan rolls his eyes and looks in the rearview mirror. "Henry, knock it off. Ethan, give dad back his phone."

"What!" Ethan yelps. "I didn't even do anything!"

"I know, sweetheart," Stan sighs. "Just give it back and we'll put on some music."

"Man, nice going," Ethan shoves Henry as he hands Kyle back his phone. That obviously doesn't fly with Henry, who hits Ethan back. And because he's been hit, Ethan retaliates with full force and hits Henry a lot harder than he probably meant to.

Henry cries for a good half an hour after that, even after Ethan jumps to an apology. Indy barks a few times, just to let everyone in on his opinion of the situation, but he too goes the way of Stan and Kyle and falls into grave silence while Henry wails and Ethan cries, because he hurt his little brother and made him cry.

The good news is that the whole ordeal wears both boys down enough that they slip into a nap after they've calmed down, and with one quick check to make sure they're both sound asleep, Kyle is free to ask, "What in the fuck was that?"

"You and Ike never fought like that?" Stan asks.

"Uh, no," Kyle frowns, looking back at Ethan and Henry again. "Neither of us crawled out of the deepest recesses of hell."

"Huh. Shelly and I fought all the time," Stan says as he settles back into his seat.

"I know that," Kyle folds his arms over his chest. "I just figured it was because Shelly was a heinous bitch, not because it's a thing."

"No one _ever_ marveled at how little you and Ike fought," Stan reiterates, like it's going to change the answer.

"No!" Kyle exclaims. Okay, he has had his disputes with Ike in the past, but they never actually hit each other and cried like that. They were both too sensible for that kind of thing. Kyle sighs and kicks his feet up on the dashboard.

"You deal with that every day?" he asks.

Stan hums, "Sometimes I'm granted the escape of an acid flashback."

Kyle is caught off-guard by his own laugh at that. "You dropped acid _once_ at fucking Lilith Fair, idiot," he settles low into his seat.

"The _first_ Lilith Fair, sir," Stan points out. "And just because I've only done it once doesn't mean I can't have a flashback."

Kyle laughs, "God, and I had to pick you up from that god-awful place, didn't I?"

"Yup," Stan nods. "Playing the part of my bitch long before I started putting out."

Kyle flips him off for that. After their first week as dorm mates at school in Denver, Kyle had noticed that being in such close quarters with Stan prompted some unexpected reactions. It wasn't until returning to the situation in their second year when Kyle realized that, whoops, he might have a tiny crush on his best friend.

It took another year before anything happened. Stan had been dealing with a lot of stuff at that point: his parents finally splitting, trying to stop drinking, getting on his anti-depressants… Kyle didn't have the heart to bother him with a sexual identity crisis on top of everything else.

"Sorry I yelled at you about your phone," Stan breaks the silence.

"Ah, you're right, though," Kyle groans. "I shouldn't be on it anyway."

_You're right. _Stan's probably the only person other than his father to whom Kyle will say those words willingly.

They hook up Kyle's iPhone and listen to some music, which is a blend of 90s rock, 80s pop, and that one _Sexy and I Know It_ song that Kyle has 'sexy' danced to about a zillion times since it came out. Stan never fails to remind Kyle that his taste in music is supposed to develop past high school, but Kyle likes what he likes and reminds Stan that he should just be grateful that he's not making them listen to Nickelback.

That usually shuts Stan up pretty quickly.

They get to South Park around two, which leaves them a good cushion of time to get settled before they're inevitably pulled into a big brouhaha of a family dinner. The nice thing about Sharon, at least, is that she doesn't get offended when Sheila insists the boys stay with her and Gerald. Kyle knows that if the tables were turned, there would be a riot in the Broflovski household.

When they pull up in the Broflovski's driveway, Kyle looks back to where the boys are still sleeping and sighs. "If we left them in here—"

"Kyle, _no_," Stan scolds him. "They'll never sleep tonight if we don't wake them up now."

"I know for a fact that my mom keeps a stash of that pink Benadryl crap—"

Stan squishes Kyle's cheeks in one of his hands and turns his face so that he's looking at him. For a second he thinks he's going to get a lecture, but he gets a kiss instead. Kyle wishes more than anything that he could melt into it right there, that this could turn into some hurried teenage-style romp, but when he slips his tongue into Stan's mouth, Ethan pipes up sleepily from the back, "Are we at Gramma's yet?"

Kyle and Stan pull away from each other and look back at Ethan, who's staring at them with a this tired, blank look on his face.

"Were you two kissing?" he asks very plainly.

"Yes," Kyle says as Stan nods. Ethan nods and mutters, "Gross", before he unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the car.

"Good," Stan nods and looks at Kyle with a smile. "Get the little one before he wakes up on his own."

Kyle gives him a salute and gets out of the car to help Henry out of his car seat. Henry whines as Kyle scoops him up and hides his face in Kyle's neck at the soonest available moment. "Hey, baby," Kyle pats him softly on the back. "You ready to see Gramma and Grampa?"

Henry whines louder and shakes his head, popping his thumb into his mouth and sniffling, like it's going to change the fact that they're already there.

Stan already has Indy and Ethan with him halfway up the walkway when the front door opens and Sheila comes out, arms wide open in greeting.

"Hey, ma," Kyle waves as Ethan runs up to her and gives her a big hug. Fuck, thank god for that kid.

They lug their kids and their luggage into the house, trudging up the stairs behind Sheila and sighing as she tells them to set the boys' stuff down in Ike's room.

"I tidied up a bit," she says. "I thought the boys would think the bunk beds were fun."

"Good idea," Kyle agrees and finally gives her a hug hello. "Thanks, ma."

"You're welcome, bubbeh," she beams. "You boys sit, relax—heck, you can nap if you need. I made some snacks for the kids downstairs, so I don't want you two to worry about them one bit."

She gives them both kisses on the cheek before going back downstairs. Kyle and Stan watch and make sure she's gone so Kyle can shut the door and start rifling around every nook and cranny of the room.

"Help me out," he says. "Clear out all the porn and weed you can find."

"Oh, good idea," Stan snaps his fingers and starts rummaging around under the baseboards of the bunk beds. They come up with a small stack of playboys, a ziplock baggie full of weed that _can't_ be good anymore, and two glass pipes, all of which they stow away in Kyle's closet.

Kyle's room has been kept relatively the same, furniture-wise. None of his posters are up anymore, though,and even though Kyle is pretty neat in general, the room is kept _pristine_. Stan puts their bags beside the bed and collapses back on it.

"Fuck, that drive takes it out of me now, dude," he sighs.

"Poor old man," Kyle snerks and locks his door before walking over to the bed.

Stan sits up to give him the evil eye and remind Kyle, very plainly, "I'm only seven months older than you, dick."

Kyle doesn't dignify that with a response, just pushes Stan back down onto the bed and climbs on top of him. This close, Kyle can see the beginnings of smile lines at the corners of Stan's eyes and he can't help it. He has to kiss Stan when they're huddled up like this. And Stan, of course, _has_ to make that throaty, needy noise that drives Kyle up the fucking wall when he touches him.

"Fuck," Stan huffs as they pull apart. "We don't have time for a quickie, do we?"

Despite having become the self-designated Kings of Quickies over the last few years, Kyle has to shake his head. "I don't think so," he rests his forehead on Stan's. He trails a hand south, just to check the urgency of the situation, and finds that Stan's in a similar predicament as him. "Maybe… just hands?"

"No mouths?" Stan asks as his hands automatically start working on the button and zip of Kyle's pants.

"You do whatever you want," Kyle rolls his eyes, fully aware that his hands are doing the same thing to Stan's shorts. "I'm not talking to my mom with your come on my breath."

"Aw, sick," Stan laughs (and the corners of his eyes crinkle up, _fuck)_ and pulls Kyle's half of a hard-on out of his underwear. Kyle returns the favor, following Stan's lead and stroking until they're both hard in each other's hand.

"Here," Stan gulps. "Let go, I'll do us both. My hand's bigger."

"It is not, liar," Kyle breathes a laugh.

Stan holds up both of his hands so Kyle can press their palms together and measure, even though they both already know the answer. Stan lets out a victorious little laugh when he's proven right and Kyle threads their fingers together. "Barely bigger," Kyle frowns and nips at Stan's lower lip before pulling off his shirt and Stan's.

Stan closes his hand around the both of them and starts stroking. Simple, but it takes Kyle's breath away every time. Kyle hides his face in Stan's neck as he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. It's fast, and soon they're each muffling their respective cries of release against the other.

They barely get any recovery time before there's a knock and a whole lot of doorknob jiggling and they're sent into a frenzied clean up.

"Dad," Ethan calls from outside, underscored by Henry's more frantic "Daddy-daddy-daddy"s. Kyle makes sure they're both clean and tucked in before unlocking the door and letting the miscreants in.

"Gramma made us cookies!" Henry runs to the bed and leaps up onto Stan.

"Oh," Kyle sighs to himself. "That'll be fun."

"I only had one," Ethan says. "Henry had three."

"Jesus Christ, I guess so," Stan laughs as he sits up. Henry is actually, honest to god _climbing _on him.

"Okay," Kyle gives an exacerbated sigh, "we can walk it off on the way to Uncle Kenny's." He ends the offer with a shrug at Stan, who shrugs back.

"Maybe it's a permanent fixture," Stan offers. "This is our son now-half monkey, half boy-we just have to accept it."

Ethan grumbles and hides his face in Kyle's side. "I don't like him that way," he mutters. "He's loud."

"Maybe some fresh air will do everyone a little good," Kyle says on the tail end of a yawn, ruffling his hand through Ethan's hair. A handjob should not make him this sleepy, goddamn.

The boys have already taken their shoes off, so getting those back on is a whole ordeal in itself. Not so much with Ethan, who can now do it _all by himself now, thank you, _but with Henry, who is determined to be a hellion. It's practically three before they're out the door and on the way to Kenny's.

"Where are we going?" Henry whines. He's holding Stan's hand tight in his, while Ethan walks with his hands in his pockets, like he's an adult that's got some woes behind his eyes.

"We're going to see Uncle Kenny," Stan explains. "Remember that we told you his dad died last night?"

"Kind of," Henry looks down at his feet.

"Well, we're going to go visit him and make sure he's okay," Kyle says and pulls Ethan close, despite his grudging attempts to wriggle away. "And you guys will get to play with your cousins. That'll be fun."

Henry whines about something, Kyle isn't listening. He misses his little mountain town sometimes. He misses the crisp clean air and the solitude of it all, and he seriously took for granted the fact that he hardly ever had to worry about being run over when crossing the street. He liked playing in dangerous places when he was a kid. Like, it's actually strange to him that Ethan isn't running amok in the street right now.

The walk to Kenny's house is a little longer than Kyle remembers, but he's never had to make it with two little kids before. The structure itself is shitty as ever, with dead grass in the front and beer cans littering the walkway.

"Why's there so much trash?" Ethan asks, and Kyle almost says 'Because Kenny's family is white trash.' He'd get socked in the mouth for saying that, though he's not sure if it would be by Kenny or Stan. Kyle's not nearly as sharp-tongued as he used to be—a lot of that has to change when you have impressionable tiny humans hanging on your every word.

He and Stan still swear like sailors, though. No getting around that.

"Uh, because that's how they keep their yard," Kyle supplies instead as he knocks firmly on the door.

Kenny answers the door not a minute later. He's tall and skinny as fuck, just as he's always been, with shaggy, unkempt hair and inky tattoos curling up his forearms. He has rings through his right eyebrow, his septum, four in each ear, and, Kyle has it on good authority, a stud through his tongue. He looks older, just like Kyle knows he and Stan do, but there's something different about it now. They haven't seen each other since Christmas, but he looks more run down now than he ever has.

"Hey, guys," he greets, voice gravelly like they caught him mid-nap. "You brought the whole gang. Come on in."

The second they're inside, Stan pulls Kenny into one of his smothering bear hugs—the kind you only get if something in your life has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"I'm sorry, dude," Stan murmurs against Kenny's neck. Kenny looks intensely uncomfortable, but to his credit hugs Stan back and gives him a little "Thanks."

Kyle waits until the boys are done hugging Kenny before he goes in for a quick one himself. He and Kenny aren't big huggers when it comes to each other, but Kenny lingers just a little bit when Kyle first tries to pull back, prompting a quick shrug from Kyle to Stan before Kenny pulls away.

"Thanks for coming, guys," Kenny sniffs and runs his fingers through his hair before turning toward the stairs, "Girls! Your cousins are here!"

"So?" comes an almost immediate response that prompts Kenny to raise his eyebrows and stalk over to the stairs and yell back up, "So get down here and say 'hi' before show you the business end of my boot for being rude!"

Kenny leans his head back on the wood paneled wall and takes a deep breath before looking at Stan and Kyle and explaining, "They think you guys are cool, they're trying to impress you."

Stan nods and looks at Kyle as footsteps thunder down the stairs, "I always wanted eleven year old girls to think I'm cool."

Kenny skipped town the moment he turned eighteen and ran away to Las Vegas; he ended up in Reno three months later.

There, Kenny met a pretty redheaded stripper named Rachel in and fell in love; they got married not long after.

Kenny got Rachel pregnant twice, only for Rachel to skip out on him "before it could happen again"; she left Kenny to father their two daughters, Lindsey and Hilary, all by himself.

All of this happened to Kenny before he was twenty-five.

Lindsey is eleven, Hilary is nine—ironically, Lindsey is the blonde and Hilary is the redhead of the two of them… Not that Kyle would know why that was ironic, of course.

"Hi, uncle Kyle," Lindsey and Hilary both give him quick hugs before doing the same to Stan and turning to their cousins. They love Henry, because he's littler than them and still cute enough to coo over. Ethan sticks close to Kyle, even goes as far as holding onto the leg of Kyle's jeans.

"Why don't you take the boys upstairs," Kenny suggests. "Play Monopoly or something."

"Henry's too little for Monopoly," Lindsey rolls her eyes, but when Kenny gives her a look she sighs and takes Henry's hand. "I _guess_ we can work something out," she says. The three of them are to the stairs before Hilary runs back, almost as an afterthought, and grabs Ethan's hand to tug him upstairs with them. He makes a scared little noise, but Kyle bends to give him a reassuring kiss on the top of the head.

"Go have fun, bub," he says.

The kids disappear upstairs with the distinct shut of a door and Kenny immediately collapses back on the couch. Stan sits beside him while Kyle goes to grab a few beers from the fridge.

Pabst… fuck. He tosses one to Kenny (and a Mr. Pibb to Stan) before he opens his and takes a long sip.

"Bereaved _and _you have shitty beer?" Kyle asks. "Remind me to bring you some good shit later, dude."

"Gee, thanks," Kenny deadpans, cracking open his can in the process.

"That's how much I love you, dude," Kyle raises his can in a toast. "I'd spring a couple extra bucks for some drinkable beer for you."

Kenny flips him off and settles so he's resting against Stan. Stan brings a hand up and pets it over Kenny's hair and asks, "How're you doing, dude?"

Kenny lets out a sigh and sinks low into the couch. "Fine, I guess?" he shrugs. "I don't know. My mom hasn't gotten out of bed yet today, even though the girls made her breakfast."

"That was sweet of them," Stan offers, and Kyle has to marvel at how Stan is able to carry on conversations like this. Kyle has no clue what to say in these situations. Things would be so much easier if empathy was a skill; then he could do what he always does and dedicate time and effort to excelling at it. Alas, Stan was just born with an abundance and Kyle has to make do with whatever he was given.

"Kevin hasn't called back," Kenny continues, exhausted, "and Karen… I don't know, man. She sounded really hesitant on the phone."

"You know when you're having the funeral?" Kyle asks, and Stan shoots him a look. "What?"

"He just died yesterday, dude," Stan chides.

"Fuck that," Kyle shakes his head. "You guys cremating him?"

"Kyle!" Stan exclaims.

"Calm down, Stan," Kenny groans, too tired to settle a dispute between the two of them, and looks over at Kyle. "My mom wants a burial service."

"Yeah, fuck that," Kyle shakes his head again. "Twenty-four hours, in the ground they go."

"Thanks Kyle," Kenny scowls and tips back a large gulp of beer.

"It's fucking dirty to leave a body that long!" Kyle counters.

"His dad _just _died, Kyle," Stan enunciates, because saying it slower is really going to change the fact that bodies decay. "Not everyone is as quick to toss their dead as the Jews, dick."

"We can't cremate, we can't embalm," Kyle ticks off on his fingers.

"You can't have tattoos," Stan ticks off one more. "Obviously Kenny's really into Jewish burial tradition."

"It's a safety hazard for us to keep our dead around that long!" Kyle defends, probably more loudly than is necessary, and Kenny snaps.

"Fuck, tomorrow!" he finally shouts. "We're having the service tomorrow. I don't think Karen's coming, who the fuck knows where Kevin is, and no one else in our family gives a shit… I figured it was just going to be me, my girls, my mom, and _maybe_ you guys. I just wanted to get it over with, dude."

Stan glares at Kyle, like he's somehow done something wrong again, and Kyle throws up his hands. "I didn't force him to do that," he says.

"Cool it with the asshole routine," Stan warns and Kyle sighs. Every time he tries to participate in this kind of thing, he botches it.

"Fine," he says and sits on the other side of Kenny. "Forget I said anything." That only gets Stan to roll his eyes and give him another warning of "knock it off", silently this time.

"You really think Karen's not coming?" Stan then asks, and Kenny sighs.

"I don't know, man," he mutters into his beer can. "I'll be fucking bummed if she doesn't, but… I don't know, I get it, I guess. I wouldn't come if he pulled that shit with me. I mean—" he takes a breath. "—I'm not going for my dad, anyway. I'm going so my mom doesn't fucking self-destruct."

Kyle looks at Stan over the top of Kenny's head and brings a hand up to rub at the back of Kenny's neck. Even though Kenny's not exactly put together, he at least usually collected enough that shit doesn't bother him. Kyle feels bad for him—he knows he wouldn't be able to work and look after his kids in the way that Kenny does. And on top of everything he's always been his mom's rock. That seems like so much for one person to handle.

There's a suspicious thud upstairs that prompts the three of them to look up at the ceiling.

"I sincerely apologize if either of your children come out of this without eyebrows," Kenny says and sinks down so his head is on Stan's lap and his legs are draped over Kyle's. "Thanks for coming, guys. Seriously, it means a lot."

Stan pets Kenny's hair for a moment before he reaches down to pinch one of Kenny's nipples. "What happened to your pierced tits, dude?"

"Ow, fucker!" Kenny slaps his hand away. "They closed up after I breastfed, what?"

Kyle barks out a laugh at that and sips at his beer. "That is magnificent," he raises his can in toast. They sit in silence for a few moments, each finishing their drinks and Kyle trying to lighten the mood with a few horribly-placed witticisms that fall flat.

Kyle isn't sure of how much time passes, but after a while there's the sound of the front door opening and the three of them crane their heads to see who's there.

Karen McCormick isn't a stranger to South Park now that she's left Colorado for good, though it's been years since she's been in her childhood home. She's tall and thin, like Kenny, and made even taller by her sleek high heeled shoes. She's entirely New York high fashion—one look at her now and you'd never guess she spent her childhood in this hell hole. As Kenny rolls off the couch to give her a greeting, she shuts the door quickly behind her and stays there, looking somewhere between terrified and absolutely _guilty_.

"There's a guy named David out there," she gulps. "He's on a phone call right now, but he's coming in."

Kenny's eyebrows pinch together, "Whoa, what the fuck? Did some perv follow you here?" He looks back at Stan and Kyle and continues, "Seriously? One look at a refined human being and these fuckin' hicks up here go nuts."

"Shut up!" Karen snaps. "His name is David Richmond, he's thirty-three, he's my fiancé as of three days ago and I need you to pretend that you are not insane."

"Insane?!" Kenny shouts back as Karen peers out the window. "How the fuck am I insane, Karen? You're the one bringing strange men to your father's _funeral_."

"I do not have time for a trailer park throw down right now," she turns back toward them. "Just do me a favor and don't make a scene right now. You can yell at me later after I drop him off at our motel."

Kenny looks like he's been slapped in the face at that. "You're staying at a motel?" he asks. "Karen, what the hell, why wouldn't you just stay here?"

Karen doesn't answer, but instead opens the door for a dapper-looking man in a suit. He's too good-looking for words, really, and definitely too good-looking for this one-horse town. There's an air of put togetherness about the guy that mildly offends Kyle, but he tries not to think too much on it.

"David, this is my brother Kenny," Karen shoots Kenny a look that can only mean 'behave yourself' as David goes to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Kenny," David offers Kenny a winning smile that makes Kyle and Stan roll their eyes at each other. He then says, more gravely, "I'm incredibly sorry for your loss." Kenny nods his head.

"Thanks," he retracts his hand and folds his arms over his chest. "It's nice to meet you."

"And this is Kyle and Stan," Karen walks over to the couch. Kyle tells himself not to give this guy the time of day, since his presence is obviously upsetting Kenny, but he finds himself standing and shaking the guy's hand anyway. He's tall, built, and has this thick dark hair that somehow commands respect. Stan apparently thinks so too, because he's doing the exact same thing.

"Nice to meet you fellas," David gives them a handsome smile too.

Karen looks like she's about to say something more, only there's another loud crash upstairs and the distinct sound of Ethan's frightened shouts as he barrels down the stairs. Kyle only catches a glimpse of his face before he buries it in Stan's side, but that's all he needs to know that the poor kid has bright red lipstick smeared all over his lips.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Stan asks, but Ethan doesn't have time to answer before three more pairs of feet come rushing downstairs to the tune of, "Okay, so crimson sunset isn't your color!"

Kyle stops both Lindsey and Hilary before they can get close to Ethan, while Stan says, "You know, girls, I know you're just playing, but something tells me that Ethan doesn't like this game."

Lindsey rolls her eyes at this and puts her hands on her hips. "That's because he has a low self esteem after having three kids," she explains. "We're trying to show him he's _worth_ high fashion."

Kyle and Stan look from where Lindsey and Hilary stand over to Kenny, who shrugs and looks down at his feet. "The TV has been stuck on TLC for a few weeks," he says. "Every time I try to fix it, Hoarders comes on and I get caught up… or the girls are watching What Not to Wear and they won't let me."

"Henry likes _his_ makeover," Hilary points out, and, as if on cue, Henry pops out from behind them—he's got blue eye shadow on, the same garish red lipstick, and, what Kyle finds most amusing, curlers just stuck to his hair. Not curling anything, just stuck there.

Henry is also the first to notice Karen's presence.

"Mama!" he shouts and runs to her. Karen bends to pick him up before he can crash into her kneecaps, but she's got this terrified look on her face that makes Kyle think she hasn't been entirely honest with this David of hers. She's soon swarmed also by her nieces, who hug her tight on either side, as Henry takes her sunglasses off the top of her head and puts them on his face.

"I'm mama," he says quietly, like he's a double agent working a new case, which makes Kyle snort maybe a little too loud.

Karen turns to David and takes a breath, "So... I can explain this." When it becomes blatantly obvious that everyone is waiting for this explanation, Karen supplies, "I didn't think Kyle and Stan were going to be here."

"Why should it matter?" Kenny asks. "Your fiancé knows you acted as surrogate for a couple of fags, right?"

"Kenny, come on," Stan chides, incredulous as he gestures to the kid firmly attached to his side.

"Homosexual-Americans, please," Kyle adds, which only gets him socked on the shoulder.

"Wow," David says, obviously overwhelmed. "Um, I'm going to wait in the car."

He's out the door faster than Karen can even attempt to explain. She puts Henry back down on the floor, detaches her nieces from her person, and shoves Kenny on her way out to follow David, making sure to shout, "You're such an asshole!" before the door shuts behind her.

Henry is the only one unaffected by this—he just hops up into Kyle's arms and puts Karen's sunglasses on his face. "You're mama," he says with that big grin of his.

"Why's Aunt Karen upset?" Lindsey asks.

Kenny groans and rubs his hands over his face before saying, "Let's not worry about it, honey. Why don't you go see if Grandma wants to eat dinner with us tonight?"

The girls both give Kenny a wary look, but obey and head upstairs. Henry looks at Kyle and asks, very seriously, "Is it because I'm not pretty enough?"

"Baby, you're very pretty," Stan says, just as seriously, and Kyle holds back an eye roll. He looks over at Kenny, who looks even more upset and tired than when they got there, and sighs.

"Do you guys want to come over and eat with us?" he asks. "I'm sure my mom would love to shovel you full of food. Also a Jewish grieving custom."

Kenny gives him a slight smile before shaking his head and looking down at his feet. "I think we're just gonna get some carry out and call it a night," he says. "Thanks though."

"All right," Kyle nods.

"Maybe we'll come back later after these two are down for the night?" Stan offers. Kenny sniffs and nods his head. Kyle doesn't like leaving Kenny like this, but he knows he won't do anything drastic. Not with his kids in the house, at least.

Kyle gives him a quick hug goodbye, while Stan lingers and may even give him a kiss on the cheek. "Call if you need anything," Stan says, and with that they head back to the Broflovski house.

* * *

**Another chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it... I may have edited to Disney music, so let that account for any outstanding errors.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing-you guys are amazing!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Kenny sets the girls up with a movie before he goes to pick up some City Wok. He knows Lindsey could do it herself if left to her own devices, but he needs to feel useful right now, and putting Karen's old copy of Sixteen Candles into the VHS player is good enough.

Thinking about the whole thing with Karen is actually making him a little ill right now. He hadn't been expecting her to come—he'd been hopeful that she would, but he's learned not to expect much from Karen in the way of family. Not that Kenny blames her, mind. They had a shitty time growing up, and their parents didn't make it any easier.

And she had to bring that rich fiancé of hers, too. Kenny doesn't know why, but something about the guy just chaps his ass. Not that he's met him, or even heard of him before just a few hours ago.

McCormicks aren't exactly born telephone communicators like, say, the Broflovskis.

Nearly a block away from City Wok, Kenny sees the motel sign poking up above the rest of the buildings in town and makes a decision.

He'll just make a quick detour.

The car Karen rented is outside, so Kenny parks behind it and decides to settle this whole thing before it actually destroys him.

If he calls Karen and tells him he's there, she'll just say that she's busy and tell him to fuck off. So, Kenny decides to try his luck at the front office; everyone in this town knows each other anyway, so it shouldn't be a big deal to explain that he's looking for his sister.

He enters the bright room right under the first concrete staircase and sees Butters Stotch sitting behind the desk, leafing through what appears to be a celebrity gossip rag. At least, that's what he's doing before the bell above the door jingles and his attention shifts.

"Oh, hey there Kenny," he gives an easy smile. He looks about as boyish as he ever has, though Kenny suspects that's because he doesn't have kids, doesn't have a wife (or husband, Kenny supposes in this case)… all he does is kick it in the motel office.

"Hey, Butters," Kenny says and looks at the wall of keys behind Butters' head. "I'm looking for my sister, do you know what room she's in?"

"Oh, sure," Butters nods and slides off his stool. Kenny has seen him around in the handful of years he's been back in South Park, but he's always still astounded by how tall Butters is. Like, he's not impressively tall or anything, but he's got to be 5'9" or something… Kenny's bad at gauging height, but no one ever thought he was going to get past five feet.

And Kenny wasn't exactly very present in high school. Not to the point where he'd have noticed something like how tall Butters Stotch was at any rate.

"Looks like she's checked in with that fella of hers in room 103," Butters says and looks up at Kenny. "I, uh… I heard about your dad."

"Oh… yeah," Kenny says.

"I'm real sorry," Butters gives him a genuinely sorry look. "I-I remember losin' my mom. It's hard."

Shit. Kenny remembers hearing about that when he was in Reno. That had to have been at least five or six years ago by now.

Seven, actually. Because he remembers getting the news about Broflovski-Marsh sprog number one and Linda Stotch's suicide in the same phone call.

"Thanks, dude," Kenny nods and looks down at the counter.

After a stretch of silence, Butters purses his lips and drums his fingertips on the countertop before asking, "You guys havin' a memorial?"

"Yeah," Kenny nods. "Tomorrow morning."

Butters nods back and sits on his stool again. He opens his magazine to the same page and says, "You'd better tell your sister that. She's been rantin' and ravin' in her room for hours, tryin' to get a flight back to New York. People have been callin' to complain all evening. Do all of you gotta set'a lungs on you like that girl?"

Kenny raises an eyebrow at him, and though his face is mostly hidden by the magazine Kenny can tell that he's smiling.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Kenny comes back, which, as expected, makes Butters' face fall immediately. "Has she gotten a flight back yet?"

"I don't know," Butters shrugs, lowering his magazine. "Lord knows no one shouts like that when things are goin' their way."

"Okay," Kenny sighs and drums quickly on the counter. "Well, thanks, dude. I'll see you around."

"All right," Butters nods, an understanding smile on his face. "Take care, Kenny."

Kenny gives Butters a quick wave before he runs out of the office and over to room 103. He knocks on the door hastily, and contains his disappointment when not Karen, but David answers.

"Oh, hi," Kenny offers lamely.

"Hi," David steps aside so Kenny can come in. Karen is too busy scowling at her computer screen to notice Kenny's presence at first, and it's only when Kenny stoops to pick up one of her red satin pumps off the floor and whistles that she bothers to look up.

"What are you doing here, asshole?" she snaps. She's on the phone, hopefully on hold.

"I didn't know they made these for men," Kenny shoots back and checks the size on the bottom. "Who the fuck is selling size twelve pumps to someone who's not a drag queen?"

"Go fuck yourself," Karen snaps.

"Hey," David steps in between them. "Let's keep it civil, okay?"

"You don't have a lot of experience with white trash, do you David?" Kenny raises an eyebrow.

"Don't talk to him like that!" Karen shouts and throws her fancy smartphone down onto the motel bedspread. "If you came here looking to start some more shit, you can just forget it, all right?"

"I didn't come here to start anything!" Kenny throws his hands up. "I just came to tell you that you should put off your trip home until, like… tomorrow night or something." He takes a breath and hangs his head, softening his voice before he continues, "We're burying dad tomorrow morning and I know mom would be real happy if you came."

Karen eyes Kenny warily before she shuts her laptop and stands. She looks so different—Kenny's seen her a few times since she moved to New York, and each time she gets harder and harder to recognize. First it was a new hairstyle, then new clothes, then a new attitude, and now, if Kenny may say so, a tremendous rock on her ring finger.

"Damn, David," Kenny whistles as he snatches up Karen's left hand. "You buy out a diamond mine or something?"

"He's in pharmaceuticals," Karen says tightly and snatches her hand back.

"Eh, I do okay," David says from his place where he's peeking out the window. "That's the third time I've caught Norman Bates checking on us from the parking lot."

"His name is Butters, and he's been declared mentally stable by two doctors," Kenny snarks back, though he has no idea if that's actually true. David just shrugs and looks back at Karen, who has been eyeing him expectantly.

"Honey, you know what I think," he says. "Asshole or not, your dad was your dad, and you know what? We're already here so we may as well make do."

Kenny turns to look at David again because, fuck, this guy cannot be for real. Good-looking, level-headed, rich… does he have a small dick or something? No one is that fucking put together.

"The fact that she's squeezed out a couple of kids… that doesn't bother you," Kenny says frankly. David just shakes his head.

"No reason for it to," he replies. "She explained the whole thing to me. I think it's sweet of her to help your friends like that."

Kenny eyes David warily before he turns back to Karen and lets out a breath. "Do what you want," he says. "Mom would be happy if you stayed, and I'm sure the girls would be ecstatic, but… do what you want. You will anyway."

Kenny moves to the door and pauses before leaving, saying, "If you do decide to leave before tomorrow, um… I love you."

He doesn't wait for a response. There's no need for it, because he knows that will hit home and she'll just bite the bullet and go tomorrow. In the mean time, he was supposed to be home with food five minutes ago. He stops in at the office really quick, where Butters pretends to be reading still, and gives Butters a smile.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Butters asks, and Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Don't act like you weren't listening out there," he shakes his head and takes a mint out of the bowl by the guestbook.

Butters offers a smile and runs a hand through his soft-looking blonde hair, "Guess I'm not great at spyin'."

"Not a bit," Kenny shakes his head and pops the mint in his mouth. "Be happy you don't have any siblings. They've got all these feelings and emotions that are just… _wrong_."

Butters chuckles and leans forward to stretch out his back. He gives Kenny this warm, sleepy smile and asks, "You like blueberries?"

Kenny raises his eyebrow, but supposes it's not any stranger than things Butters normally asks. He shrugs and replies, "I like 'em all right. Can't keep my girls away from 'em though."

Butters' smile broadens and he gives him a thumbs up. "Good luck tomorrow, Kenny," he says. "Have a good night."

Kenny gives him a smile, thanks him, and leaves for City Wok feeling a little lighter than before. He picks up twice the food he thinks he meant to and brings it back to the house. The girls are starving by the time he gets there, but as long as he gets Karen to come tomorrow, it'll be worth it.

The smell of the food lures his mom out of hiding, too, which is another success. She takes a plate of food and insists that they all sit at the table.

"Was that Karen I heard earlier?" she asks as Kenny sets napkins down in front of both Lindsey and Hilary. "Kenny, sit and eat for God's sake. You're thin as a rail, baby, you're gonna collapse if you're not careful."

Kenny holds back a remark that he's done a lot more on a lot less and sits down like he's told.

"Yeah, that was Karen," he says and looks over at where Lindsey is barely touching her food. "What's wrong, Linds?"

"I don't like Chinese food," she says, and Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Then I guess you're going to be hungry tonight, huh?" he hums and looks up at his mom, who has to hide a smile behind her hand. At age eleven, Kenny once ate an entire Tupperware of what was probably spoiled meatloaf out of Stan's fridge—Cartman had offered him two dollars to do so, which had only been a small compensation for how sick he'd been for the next few days.

Kenny will never understand picky eaters.

"Where'd Karen run off to?" his mom just asks, changing the subject.

"The motel," Kenny shrugs. "With that ever-so dapper fiancé of hers."

His mom chokes on her food at that, and for a second Kenny actually wonders if he'll have to administer the Heimlich. "With her _what_?"

"Uh-huh," Kenny just nods.

"My baby girl's getting married?" she puts a hand over her heart, like she might pass out at just the thought. "To who?"

"His name's David or something," Kenny shrugs and looks back at his mom, shaking his head. "Mama, she bagged herself a good one. That ring had to be at least four karats."

"Shut your mouth," his mom snaps, though there's no bite behind it. "He's rich?"

"_He's in pharmaceuticals," _Kenny mimics as he shakes his head.

"He's not one of those fuddy-duddy rich types, is he?" his mom groans and Kenny, to his utter distaste, has to shake his head again.

"One of the nicest people I think I've ever met," Kenny stabs at his beef and broccoli. "I think he might actually be perfect."

"He was real handsome, grandma," Hilary nods her approval.

"Oh, really?" Kenny laughs, and Hilary nods again. Kenny just shakes his head and turns her plate so her broccoli faces her. "Eat your green stuff."

"Ew, no," Hilary sticks out her tongue. "It looks like brains."

Kenny turns to her and asks, "You ever seen a plate of brains?"

She shakes her head, so Kenny continues, "You want a plate of brains, I'm sure Mr. Kim would love to give you a plate of all the brains you'd like."

Hilary sticks out her tongue and pokes at her broccoli, but doesn't budge on her refusal to ingest it, so Kenny goes back to his conversation with his mom.

"I wouldn't count on Kevin coming, though," he says, which makes his mom roll her eyes.

"I gave up on that boy the second I got an invitation for his third wedding," she says, which makes Kenny snort.

"Idiot," Kenny mutters.

"Oh, don't you start," his mom warns. "Not right now."

"Start what?" Kenny asks, even though both his girls are staring at him expectantly now. "I've got the girls, I've got you—ma, I'm fine, I promise."

Though when Stan calls later to see if he needs anything, he's reminded that is not entirely true.

"What's that in the background?" Kenny asks as he holds the phone as close to his ear as possible.

"Ugh, that would be Kyle snoring," Stan gives a tired reply. "The boys really take it out of him; he just kind of crashes when he spends all day with them."

Kenny checks the clock on his phone, "Stan, it's eight o'clock."

"Don't tell me, I'm not the one asleep," Stan says.

Kenny laughs, tells Stan to be at the memorial a little before nine so they can get it done quick and easy, and hangs up. He checks on the girls in Karen's old room to make sure they're in their PJs and ready to settle down before taking a moment to himself in his room.

Stan and Kyle… that didn't surprise anyone. It should have, but it didn't. Neither of them had been gay in high school, like Butters. Kyle just hated people and Stan tended to ostracize himself with his moping and his drinking. The only way to not end up alone was to end up with each other, but that never mattered because they've always had each other—they've always belonged to one another, as anyone who's ever been caught between them will say.

Kenny smacks face-down onto his bed and groans.

On the one hand, he's happy that Rachel showed her colors relatively early. He wouldn't want to be stuck in this with someone who doesn't love the girls as much as he does, or who would try to criticize the way he's raising them. He knows he's not perfect, but he's pretty damn sufficient, okay?

On the other hand, having someone warm to curl up to at night wouldn't be so bad. The girls are getting to big to want to cuddle with their dad like they used to. Kenny is also getting tired of waking up to spooning his pillow when he could be spooning another person.

Kenny misses other people sometimes.

"Daddy," Lindsey knocks on the door, but doesn't come in. "Daddy, can Hilary and I watch TV until it's time for bed?"

"Go ahead," he calls. He falls asleep like that, more tired than he thought, he supposes, and wakes to the sound of his phone alarm blaring in his pocket early the next morning.

Today feels a lot grimmer than yesterday. His dad was his dad, of course, but Kenny's never once missed him before.

Okay, Kenny doesn't think he misses him so much as expects him to be passed out on the couch and is mildly disappointed that he's not. And then he realizes he _is_ actually a little sad to know that he never will be again.

He does, however, find both of his daughters collapsed in the remains of a pillow fort about a foot away from the TV, which is already showing morning programming.

"Hey," he bends down to wake them both. "Come on, girls, we've got an hour to get ready to go. Let's get some breakfast in you."

They grudgingly get up and go to the kitchen for some cereal while Kenny busies himself with cleaning up their fort. He feels a little like The Flash this morning, managing to get everyone awake and getting ready while simultaneously doing the same for himself in the process.

With a poptart in his mouth, Kenny pours some coffee for both his mom and himself. She's in her multi-purpose black dress, one she picked up at Goodwill years ago that serves as her fancy occasion dress as well as her mourning shrouds. Kenny is wearing one of his dad's old suits, despite the fact that his dad was a larger man around the middle than Kenny, and a good few inches shorter.

"Thanks, baby," his mom says softly. She seems better today, which Kenny doesn't quite understand, but he's pulled away by a knock on the door before he can ask her about it. When he gets to the door, he's struck absolutely silent.

Butters Stotch is at his door, a pie in hand and a smile on his face.

"Wow, am I glad I didn't have to leave this on your doorstep," Butters chuckles and holds out the pie tin. Kenny removes the poptart from his mouth takes the pie in his hand. He studies its contents as best he can under saran wrap and a suspiciously neat crust lattice and comes to an interesting conclusion.

"Did you make me a blueberry pie?" he asks, just to be sure.

"I did," Butters nods. "Well, for you an' your family. My mom always said that when people fall on hard times, pies are a good way to let 'em know they're bein' thought of."

That makes Kenny's chest hurt kind of a lot.

"Butters, I—" he swallows and looks up at him, "Thanks."

"No problem," Butters smiles. "If you need anything, you know where I am. Just holler."

Kenny nods and waves at him as he makes his way down the walkway and back to his car. He's never been the recipient of anything like this. Even when Rachel left, all his neighbors managed to do was get angry at him for not being able to shut his kids up on his own.

"Who was that, Kenny?" his mom asks just as the girls come downstairs.

"Butters Stotch," Kenny says as he goes to put the pie in the fridge. "He made us a pie."

His mom gives a wary look over the top of her coffee, like she doesn't trust anything that little fruitcake might touch, but to her credit keeps the commentary to herself.

"That kid creeps me out," she finally says.

Or not.

"Ma, he just made a pie," Kenny rolls his eyes. "He's a nice guy, not a serial killer."

"I just never liked the idea of him or his mom touchin' anything I was supposed to eat," his mom shakes her head. "Craziest people in town if you ask me."

"A boy made you a pie?" Hilary asks before Kenny can jump to Butters' defense, and Kenny has to roll his eyes and say 'yes'.

"Why?" Lindsey asks.

"Because he knows that we're going through something tough," Kenny explains to the three of them. "Some people are actually kind-hearted and care about cheering up their neighbors when they're going through shit like this."

Lindsey and Hilary share a look that Kenny knows all too well as trouble.

"I think it's nice that someone made a pie for you, dad," Lindsey says, just as Hilary asks, "Is he as handsome as Aunt Karen's hunk of man?"

"_Hunk of man_?" Kenny repeats, looking Hilary dead in the eye, and then catches on. "Oh no… no. You two are out of your league on this one. Butters and I have known each other since we were little kids—he's just doing something nice for an old friend."

"Uncle Stan and Uncle Kyle have known each other since they were little kids," Lindsey argues.

"And I've known them for just as long, your argument is invalid," Kenny comes back before hanging his head with a sigh and throwing up his hands in defeat. "It's an inappropriate conversation anyway. Let's go before they have the service without us."

Everyone gets out of the house in an orderly fashion and into the car. By the time they get to the memorial site, Karen and David are already there. As the girls run out to give Karen their hugs, his mom snags his jacket and pulls him down. "Is that her beau?" she asks.

"Yup," Kenny nods and folds his arms over his chest.

"Damn," his mom shakes her head. "It's like Burt Reynolds and George Clooney made love and had a baby."

"Ugh," Kenny pulls a face. "Jesus Christ, mom, keep it in your pants."

His mom holds up her hands in defeat not a moment before Karen and David approach them. Karen is as tall as Kenny and David in her shoes, and she's so thin that Kenny's actually fearful that she may blow away in too strong of a breeze.

"Hi, mama," she says softly and hugs their mom tight. "I'm so sorry."

"Aw, baby," she rubs her back and kisses her on the cheek. "I'm real happy you're here, honey." She pulls away and smiles at David.

"Mom, this is David," Karen says.

"Hi there, Mrs. McCormick," David says and sticks out his hand in greeting. "I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Their mom looks taken aback as she shakes David's hand. "It's very nice to meet you, David," she says. "And you can call me Carol, please."

"Carol," David gives her a smile before turning back to Kenny and shaking his hand too. "Good to see you again, Kenny."

Kenny suppresses an eye roll and gives him a smile instead, "You too, man."

They walk to the gravesite in silence, and the gravity of the situation actually settles over Kenny. His dad was fifty-four—maybe not a spring chicken exactly, but definitely not old enough to be dying of a shitty liver either.

"So," David says as he falls into stride with Kenny. "You're not the kind of people who have a shitty time with someone while they're alive and then talk about how great they were the moment they died, right?"

Kenny, already on edge looks over at David and says, "You don't spend a lot of time with Catholics, do you Danny?"

"David."

"Whatever," Kenny rolls his eyes. "Rule one, you never speak ill of the dead."

He doesn't continue, because by then they're back in Karen's earshot and Kenny doesn't want to get in trouble.

After they reach the gravesite they wait a few minutes, his mom talking with the priest while the girls marvel at Karen's colorful fingernails and Kenny remains in stoic silence with David. Just as Father Maxi is about to start his service, Kenny sees Stan and Kyle walking over to them, hellions and parents in tow.

"Hey, sorry," Stan whispers as he approaches. "Shit was crazy this morning."

"No big deal, dude," Kenny says and pulls him into a hug. "I'm glad you're here."

Kyle is close behind him, toting along a sleepy looking Henry while Ethan trudges along beside him. Kenny moves to hug Kyle and blows a raspberry to Henry's cheek. It makes Henry giggle, and whatever if it's inappropriate for the setting. Kenny loves making his nephews laugh.

He bends down so he's on the level with Ethan and says, "Hey, dude. Your dad crack the whip and get you up early?"

"Yeah, I'm the bad guy," Kyle shakes his head. "Thanks, asshole."

"Henry woke me up," Ethan whispers in Kenny's ear, and Kenny nods.

"What a dick," he whispers back, which gets him a laugh from Ethan and a slap upside the head from Kyle. When Kenny stands back up, he sees that everyone is staring at them and forgoes the sheepish grin for a quick wave and a, "Whenever you're ready, sorry."

With a sharp look from his mom, Kenny sits beside her and listens attentively as Father Maxi starts with his service. As expected, his mom does end up crying, but Karen and Kenny remain straight-faced the whole time. There's nothing Kenny wants to remember, and as far as he knows, the shitty memories outweigh the good anyway. Maybe he's not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but one said he couldn't _think_ his dad was a right bastard nine times out of ten.

It's a short service, since no one wants to say anything, and soon they're all walking back to the parking lot. His mom is crying, and even though she was definitely worse the other night, it's still hard for Kenny to see. He doesn't like seeing anyone upset, really (fine, with maybe an exception or two), but seeing his mom like this is just plain heartbreaking.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Henry whines.

"We have pie!" Hilary chirps before Kyle or Stan can say anything. This prompts Kyle to give Kenny a wary look, while Stan asks, "You have pie?"

"Uh, yeah," Kenny scratches the back of his neck, fiddling with the series of piercings there. He mumbles an explanation, and when it becomes apparent that neither Stan nor Kyle heard him, he says, loudly, "Butters brought us a blueberry pie this morning."

Kyle raises his eyebrow and looks over at Stan, who tries to hide the blatant smile that's threatening to spread across his cheeks.

"What?" Kenny asks. "It was a nice gesture."

"I agree," Kyle nods. "That was _super_ cute."

"That's what I said!" Lindsey exclaims from Kenny's side.

Kenny's brow furrows and he pulls Kyle aside. "Even if it was _cute_," he says softly, so only Kyle can hear, "It doesn't fucking matter because I'm not into dudes."

Kyle gives him a _look_ for that, one of those ones where the 'bitch please' is palpable. Then he decides to sweeten the pot with, "Craig Tucker, junior prom, don't fucking start with me."

And with a lack of anything else to come back with, Kenny's mouth goes guppy for a moment before he says, "Dude, my dad just died. Don't I get fucking grief immunity, dickhead?"

Kyle just shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Don't say you're not into dudes if you like sucking cock."

Kenny socks him hard on the shoulder for that, which makes Stan give them a look and shut the boys in their car before he comes over to join in the conversation. "Who's sucking cock?" he asks.

"You are," Kyle and Kenny both reply at the same time, which makes Stan flip them off and nuzzle up against Kyle. Kenny's torn between feeling grossed out and feeling a strange pang of loneliness in his gut. Stan and Kyle are… admittedly kind of perfect together. Not that they always haven't been, but the moment they shacked up together was just sort of a completion of that perfection.

It makes Kenny uncomfortable and sad.

"Whatever, you guys can come have pie if you want, if not..." Kenny runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "Maybe we can meet at the bar later or something, I don' t know."

"You have pie?" Stan asks.

"Butters made him a pie," Kyle explains, and Kenny can't fight the eye-roll at Stan's wolf whistle.

"Just because you two decided to start fucking doesn't mean the rest of us have to," Kenny shakes his head. He then makes a pointed argument when he sees that his girls are engaged in conversation with Karen all the way across the parking lot, "And just because I went down on a guy, what, fifteen years ago?"

"Dude, more than that," Stan frowns. "Didn't you blow Tweek in like the eighth grade? That was twenty years ago… fuck."

Kyle barks out a laugh, like it's a fucking victory or something, and Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Okay fine," he crosses his arms. "Doesn't mean I'm down with marrying a dude."

"Dude, why the fuck not?" Stan laughs and hugs Kyle around his waist. "You can leave the toilet seat up, you can share socks… it's the best."

Kenny shakes his head, "You guys are idiots."

"Nothin' but a couple of crazy fellas who fell in love," Kyle drawls like he's popped straight out of _Gone With the Wind_ and kisses Stan on the cheek.

Kenny's about to retort when Ethan opens up their car door and whines that Henry is about to throw a tantrum. Stan rolls his eyes and presses a kiss into the back of Kyle's neck before pulling away. "We'll meet you later, dude," he says.

"Enjoy your pie," Kyle gives him a facetious wave and Kenny hides his face in his hands.

It's not even that he's averse to the idea of guys getting married and having kids—he's not his dad or anything, and Stan and Kyle are really good parents. Even with Rachel, the family thing didn't feel right to him. He loves his girls and would do anything for them; he's happy that he's a dad and that his girls aren't nearly as fucked up as they could (or probably should) be.

Maybe he just sensed that Rachel wasn't into the whole 'happy family' thing either? He doesn't know. When he walks over to join the rest of his family, his mom is smoking a cigarette around the other side of their car while Karen grills Lindsey and Hilary about school, and David leans against the side of the car, looking a little uncomfortable.

Kenny takes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slaps them against his palm as he comes to stand beside David.

"Smoke?" he offers as he pops a cigarette into his mouth.

"No thanks," David shakes his head. "Quit in college. Apparently they're bad for you. Killers, even."

Kenny snorts and nods. "So they say," he says as he lights up. "Enjoying your time in our humble mountain town so far?"

"Yeah," David nods. "Everyone's been friendly." He looks down at his shoes and continues, "Your pals seem pretty nice."

"Everyone's been friendly because you look like Jon Hamm's way more handsome brother," Kenny points out.

"Aw, thanks man," David grins, which only makes Kenny roll his eyes and (possibly passive-aggressively) blow out a stream of smoke that happens to go right in David's face. "Uncool," David just glares.

"Sorry," Kenny says, not at all smug (thank you very much).

David folds his arms across his chest and looks down at his feet. Silence stretches on as Kenny smokes his cigarette and his girls natter at Karen. Then David pipes up and says, "Those kids… the boys. How are they?"

"My nephews?" Kenny looks over, and David nods. "They're okay. The little one might be on crack, but whatever. Runs in the family."

He snaps his mouth shut after that, realizing fully that that's insanely inappropriate for the time and place and company and decides not to speak for the rest of the day.

Maybe he'll just keep his face stuffed with blueberry pie instead.

* * *

**Hey there everyone! Thank you for sticking around through the spotty updates, for reading and for those of you who've reviewed. I love seeing your reactions to the story, as I'm having a whole lot of fun writing it. **

**Hope you're all having a splendid weekend!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Stan hasn't had a drink in close to thirteen years.

In fact, he doesn't think he's had a drink since they moved to Littleton, and his efforts to quit go back even further.

Not many people appreciate the fact that he started trying to get sober before it was even legal for him to consume alcohol, but he's stopped bringing it up because it's a bummer. People don't like talking about shit that bums them out, and frankly neither does Stan. Yeah, he misses booze, but he can handle it.

Even in a bar, which is where Kenny told Stan and Kyle to meet him.

Kyle doesn't drink very much, so that works out well for Stan; however, he _can _drink and does, especially when they're with Kenny, while Stan gets stuck with ginger ale.

"You okay?" Kyle asks as he swipes a finger through the condensation on his bottle. Stan looks up from the bowl of peanuts on the table between them and gives Kyle his most reassuring smile, but that doesn't deter Kyle. They've known each other for their entire lives; they can see right through each other even when there's no obstruction.

"That funeral was weird, right?" he asks, and Kyle cocks his head.

"I don't know, man," he shrugs.

"I mean," Stan scratches the back of his neck as Kyle folds up a napkin into an origami-like shape. "Like, Carol was upset and Karen was sad. But, like… none of them said anything, you know? And Kenny looked like Damian at the end of the fucking Omen."

Kyle laughs at this and shakes his head, "Fuck off, he did not."

"Okay, not Damian, but," Stan sniffs and props his chin up on his hand. "Like, he just sat there like he was spacing out hardcore. I don't think he heard anything Father Maxi said."

"I didn't either," Kyle shrugs.

"Yeah, but you would've been different if it had been your dad," Stan argues, at which Kyle raises a challenging eyebrow.

"Are you really in the position to be getting high and mighty about anyone's daddy issues, Stan?" he asks, and Stan's only retaliation is to scowl and flip him off.

Kenny did look strange, though. He doesn't presume to know what's going on inside Kenny's head, but he does know that his friend does tend to have a… shall we say, an avoidant personality when it comes to personal stuff. Stan knows how that goes; alcoholism is basically a synonym for 'avoidance'.

And then, like magic, Kyle asks, "Seriously, you all right there, Mayday?"

Stan smiles and knocks his foot against Kyle's under the table. Because he _is_ okay; he's fine. Outside of the strangeness of this afternoon, he's feeling pretty good. Gerald and Sheila told them that they'd look after the kids tonight, that he and Kyle deserve to have a little fun on their own.

Stan told them to call if they have any—_any _—problems. The boys are a handful on their best days, in ways that Sheila and Gerald probably never had to deal with. Kyle and Ike both went from being twelve-years-old to thirty overnight.

"Dude, if you're uncomfortable, we can tell Kenny to meet us somewhere else," Kyle says as he checks his watch, his voice calm and reassuring like it always is. "Fuck, it's only six o'clock."

"I'm fine," Stan iterates. Personally, he would rather be somewhere else, but this is where Kenny wanted to meet them and Stan is okay with that. He would be happy to see Kenny have any sort of emotional reaction to this day, and if alcohol is going to spur that, then god help them that's what they'll give him.

A few more minutes pass, during which Kyle flicks a peanut shell at Stan's face and Stan retaliates by flicking one back. Then it turns into a game of peanut shell football and Stan just gets one through Kyle's finger field goal post when Kenny plops down beside Kyle, beer in hand, and gives them both a look.

"What's cookin' good lookin'?" Kyle asks as he preps his peanut shell for launch.

"You guys are gross," Kenny shakes his head.

"If a man can't enjoy a good game of peanut football with his husband without being called _gross,_ what hope is there left in the world?" Stan asks, and Kyle laughs. Kenny spent the better part of high school recounting, in explicit detail, his sexual conquests, which made Stan and Kyle a little squeamish to say the least. Disgusting Kenny with their domesticity is one of Stan's guilty pleasures, and his favorite way of giving back.

"How're you doing, dude?" Stan chuckles as a peanut shell hits him square in the chin.

"Fine," Kenny shrugs and takes a long sip of his beer. "Just happy to be out of the house for a little bit."

Stan nods. "Karen and David came today," he prompts, and Kenny makes this small noise of either annoyance or disgust, Stan can't really tell.

"David just… pisses me off," Kenny grumbles and takes another sip of his beer.

"He is really annoyingly handsome," Kyle agrees. "Like, how do you _get_ that handsome?"

It gets Kenny to smile, at least, which is a good thing.

Stan's phone starts buzzing in his pocket as Kenny starts talking. He plans on ignoring all his calls tonight anyway (unless Sheila or Gerald call to say that the boys had burned down their house), but the moment he sees 'Dad' on the screen of his phone… he doesn't think he's ever hit that little red button so fast in his life.

"What the fuck was that?" Kyle asks.

"Nothing," Stan shakes his head, because on top of everything he doesn't want to prove Kyle right about anything tonight, let alone his own _daddy_ _issues_. But two seconds later his dad calls back and Stan can't take it. He pushes the phone toward Kyle and asks, "Please, please, _please_ answer it?"

Kyle takes one look at the screen and barks out a laugh, "Fuck no, I'm not answering that."

"Is that the fucking Imperial March from Star Wars?" Kenny asks. "For your dad? That's cold shit, dude."

Stan ignores the comment (as well as the veritable slew of comments about dads he could throw back) and turns to Kyle, all but begging now, "I will get under this table right now and suck your dick if you answer this, _please_."

The phone goes to voicemail then and Kyle just shakes his head. "There, problem solved."

The phone goes off again, and Stan smacks his forehead against the table. "Please, Kyle, I'm the father of your children," he whines.

"All right!" Kyle snaps and grabs the phone. "You're such a fucking baby, Jesus Christ. Hello?—Hey, Randy."

Stan feels a small wave of relief wash over him, even though Kyle glares daggers at him. "No, we're not at the house, we're up in South Park," Kyle says, and Stan actually wilts at that. His dad doesn't come by too often, but when he does it's always unscheduled.

"Jesus, Marsh," Kenny shakes his head at Kyle before turning to Stan. "I had no idea you had him so whipped."

Kenny laughs as Kyle punches him on the shoulder, and continues, "Actually, I don't think you can be pussy-whipped when there's no pussy in the relationship."

He ignores Kyle's warning glare and offers, "Ass-whipped?"

Stan hums and takes a sip of ginger ale. "Better," he nods. "But cock-whipped probably suits more of our purposes."

"Ugh," Kenny hides his face in his hands. "Now I can't un-see you slapping Kyle in the face with your dick."

Kyle hangs up then and gives Kenny this look as he hands Stan his phone. "What his dick does to my face is between his dick and my face, sir," Kyle implores, which only makes Stan laugh until Kyle turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "And I seem to remember a promise of dick-sucking for that."

"Ah, that was for the second call," Stan clarifies. "You don't get anything now."

"Hey fellas," comes a soft interruption. The three of them look up to see Butters standing at the table beside them, a smile on his face and what looks like a root beer clutched close to his chest. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure," Stan shrugs and slides over in the booth to make more room for Butters. Stan hasn't really kept in contact with Butters—in fact, he doesn't know too many people who have. He didn't even know that Butters was in South Park, to be perfectly honest. Word on the street was that he'd followed Cartman wherever he'd gone after high school.

"How're you doin', Kenny?" Butters asks as he sets his root beer down on the table. Kenny looks caught off guard to be asked such a thing, but Kyle and Stan both find themselves watching attentively as Kenny fishes for an answer.

"Uh… I'm fine? I guess?" he shrugs and brings a hand up to the back of his neck. "Thanks for the pie; we demolished that fucker when we got back from the service."

Stan gives Kyle a look now, but it's met with one that simply conveys, "Stay out of it."

They've talked about this a hundred times, though, and Stan is getting pretty fucking impatient. Kenny lives like a monk nowadays, and call Stan crazy, but that's just not fucking right. He does it for his girls, Stan gets that, but they're old enough now that they'd understand their dad going out with someone.

Some people can go it alone. Some people like it that way. Stan has never seen his mom happier than she's been in the last decade, all because she's better at being alone than she is at being a babysitter to her (ex)husband and kids.

Kenny is _not_ good at being alone.

Also, Stan has ten bucks riding on whether or not Kenny would actually date a dude, and he intends on winning that.

"How's everything with you, Butters?" Stan asks, and still he gets a glare from Kyle. He's just trying to make small talk, for fuck's sake.

No agenda whatsoever.

At all.

"Oh, I reckon I can't complain," Butters shrugs, smiling. "How're you?"

Kyle raises his eyebrow at Stan, but Stan shakes his head and turns back to Butters and responds, "Pretty well."

"You guys have kids, right?" Butters asks as Kenny pulls out his phone.

"Yeah, two boys," Stan nods, knowing full well that Kyle hates this kind of small talk enough to interrupt it.

Today he's chosen to distract everyone by knocking Kenny's phone out of his hand and sending it skidding across the bar floor.

"Whoops," Kyle drones.

"Are you fucking serious right now, dickhead?" Kenny snaps.

"It's a Nokia, you're fine," Kyle shakes his head. Kenny punches Kyle on the shoulder, hard, before moving to retrieve the phone.

Butters moves first, however, holding up a hand as he offers a bright, "I'll get it."

Before Kenny can even respond, Butters is bent over under a table close by, patting around for the phone.

And Kenny is staring right at the denim stretching over his ass. Stan looks back at Kyle, who gives him an innocent shrug and downs the rest of his beer.

Fuck, Stan loves this man.

"Here you go, Kenny," Butters sits back down and places the phone in front of Kenny. "Though, full disclosure, it might be time to look for a new phone."

"Thanks," Kenny quips back and shoves the phone back in his pocket. "What brings you here?"

"Ah," Butters gives a nervous laugh and looks down at his bottle. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said they had the best sarsaparilla in the state?"

Unceremoniously, Kenny plucks the bottle from Butters' hand and takes a sip, only to pull a face not a moment later. "You're right, I would not believe you if you said that," he says, and smiles back at Butters when he smiles at him.

"All right," Kyle coughs and pulls out his wallet. "I think the first wave of the cheer up brigade has done enough for one night." He pulls a condom out of his wallet and slaps it on the table in front of Kenny. "Safety first boys, remember that."

He then climbs over Kenny and looks back at Stan, who is torn between outright laughter and hiding his face in his hands.

"Sorry," he murmurs as Butters scoots out of the booth to let Stan by him. "Um, give us a call later or something, Kenny," Stan gives him a wave before grabbing Kyle by the back of the shirt and hauling him out of the bar.

"What the fuck was that?" Stan asks.

"Aw, dude," Kyle groans. "Don't get all pissy. I'm not into sitting in on them eye-fucking all night, okay? Kenny's got someone to talk to now, and maybe we can, like," he shifts inward and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't know, we could go for a walk or something," he says.

Stan draws back at that, waiting a moment before he asks, "You want to go for a walk?"

He loves Kyle more than anything, but he came to terms long ago with the fact that Kyle is not the romantic type. Even something like _taking a walk_ is enough to get him to roll his eyes and launch into a diatribe about the conspiracies revolving around the media's portrayal of romance and love.

"Yeah, dude," Kyle nods. "No kids, it's a nice night…" He reaches forward and grabs one of Stan's hands in both of his, pulling Stan in close so he can kiss him. Stan can taste the beer on his tongue and draws back.

"Dude, are you drunk after one beer?" Stan laughs.

"I'm not drunk!" Kyle flips him off. "I want to take a walk with you, that's all."

"That's _all_?" Stan reiterates, and then folds his arms. "I know you're only with me for my roguishly handsome good looks, but at least attempt a little subtlety."

Kyle rolls his eyes and says, "Your dad said he has a surprise, and since we weren't at the house he's going to come up here tonight and tell us. Or just you, actually. If he tries to tell me, I'm not going to be listening. Can we please just take a walk before you start—"

But it's too late. Randy's surprises do not turn out well. They have never turned out well, and the last time he had one was six years ago, when he'd turned up on Stan and Kyle's doorstep, married.

"Nope," Stan shakes his head, then his hands. "Fuck this. Fuck this so hard. I don't want a surprise, dude, I just want to sit in your basement and eat shitty food and never, ever come out again." He doesn't realize he's jumping up and down until Kyle grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to stay still.

"Fuck, man," Kyle keeps his voice steady. "Just fucking breathe for a minute, okay? You're okay, you're fine."

Stan takes a deep breath and nods, gradually coming back to himself as he feels Kyle's hands knead soothing circles into his shoulders.

"Did you…" Kyle begins. "You brought your meds, right?"

Stan rolls his eyes. Forget your meds once on a weekend trip to visit your friend in Reno and suddenly you're lashed to it for life.

"Yeah, I brought my meds," Stan shoves his hands in his pockets. "Doesn't mean I'm dying to see my dad and his inappropriately aged wife."

Kyle gives a knowing, silent nod before he wraps an arm around Stan's shoulder and rests their heads together. He gives Stan a kiss on the cheek and noses at his hair.

"Come on," he nips at Stan's earlobe. "I've got an idea."

"Uh-oh," Stan raises his eyebrows. "That can't be good."

Kyle gives him an affronted scowl and prods him in the gut. "I have great ideas," he says, which makes Stan laugh and rub the back of his neck. He and Kyle are the same height, more or less, and Kyle fits against him like a puzzle piece, as corny as that might sound.

Stan likes corny things like that.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks.

Kyle tips his head up so he can look at the sky. He sighs before turning back to Stan and asks, "You got cash?"

"Sweet, are we going on a coke binge?" Stan asks, giving Kyle a stupid, open-mouthed smile. Kyle hiccups out this goofy laugh, this one that he always gets when he's seriously caught off-guard, and Stan pulls him into a kiss by the front of his shirt.

Kyle tastes good, like always. Even with the beer on his tongue, he still tastes like Kyle.

"Okay," Kyle grins when they pull apart. "Okay, come on. Let's get out of here."

They drive to the gas station and get gigantic slushies from the bored-looking attendant—some teenager who pops her gum over her copy of Cosmo as she regards them with knowing eyes. Stan just sips loudly at his slushie in response as Kyle pays.

Then Kyle drives them into town and parks outside the arcade, and Stan gets a whole host of fuzzy feelings in his chest. Kyle knows him, plain and simple.

The greatest part of it all is watching Kyle put cash into the quarters machine and forgetting how fast the change comes pouring out of the spout at the bottom. They spend a good portion of time picking up quarters off of the floor and stuffing them into their pockets. When they're done, they rush past all the deserted machines, back to where the first person shooter games are lined up against a wall.

Stan may or may not superimpose Randy Marsh's face onto a few of the rudimentary, blocky zombies on his screen.

"You know," Stan says as he reaches into his pocket for more quarters. "If we asked, my Uncle Jimbo would totally let us go and shoot actual targets at the range."

Kyle makes a noncommittal grunt as he takes a long slurp of his slushie. "Video games are better," he says. "If I accidentally shoot off anyone's face here, I don't feel too bad."

"You're not going to shoot anyone's face off if you use real guns," Stan rolls his eyes, at which point Kyle raises an eyebrow at him and grins.

"Your face is way too nice for me to want to take the chance," he shrugs and leans forward to peck a quick kiss to Stan's lips. It's not often that affectionate Kyle makes himself known, and it makes Stan's palms sweat and his heart beat crazy fast.

Even after so long, Kyle still does that to him.

Kyle catches him looking at him then and, with an uncomfortable shift asks, "What?"

"I love you," Stan supplies instantly, and Kyle's cheeks actually turn a little pink. When they'd first gotten together, Kyle went beet red when Stan said that; he's gotten better since then, but Stan must have caught him off-guard this time. So, he leans forward and gives Kyle a reassuring kiss.

And then they accidentally end up making out against House of the Dead until the owner catches them and kicks them out for 'lewd behavior'.

"Would it be lewd if we weren't two men?" Kyle challenges as the owner walks them out.

"Yes!" the older man snaps back. "Do you know how many times I had to toss that McCormick kid out of here for attempting to defile nearly every girl in town in my bathrooms? This is an arcade, not the chicken ranch. We got kids in here."

Stan and Kyle look quizzically at each other on that one, eyebrows raised and trying to keep in their laughter until they're back in the car and out of earshot.

Whether or not this is retaliation, Stan's not sure, but they end up making out in the backseat while still parked out in front of the arcade. Not that the streets of South Park are particularly overrun by people, but it is risky behavior for anyone, seeing how it's not even all the way dark yet.

They only stop when Stan's phone vibrates with a text from Randy that reads "at ur moms. thot ud be here. where r u?"

"Fuck," Stan sighs and sits up as Kyle adjusts the pull of his jeans. Stan texts his dad back, 'on our way' and slides back into the front seat. Kyle drives again, because otherwise Stan might have an anxiety attack and drive them into a street lamp.

As much as he loves them, Stan doesn't want to leave his boys in the care of their grandparents. Stan and Kyle made it out of their clutches relatively unscathed, but Stan couldn't imagine subjecting the boys to it.

Randy's car is there when they get to Sharon's. Stan knew it would be, but seeing it for real makes his stomach go sour. Before Stan can get out, Kyle pulls him back and cups his face in his hands.

"You're fine, honey," Kyle murmurs softly, and that's enough to melt Stan's spine. Pet names are out of the realm of Kyle's use and understanding, but every once in a while he lets one slip, and every once in a while Stan is overcome by this infallible happiness that can get him through even the toughest situations.

It'll be interesting to see how that holds up now.

They walk up to the house and push inside, where Stan's mom is sitting in her work clothes still, legs crossed and looking pissed off as his dad's new wife, Amanda, goes on about her wonderful life in retail.

"Oh, thank god," she actually says when Stan and Kyle walk in the door. She stands and, as she walks past Stan and Kyle, unhooks her bra through the back of her shirt. Stan rests his forehead on Kyle's shoulder in an attempt to erase the offending image from memory, but to no avail.

"It's my house," she says, "I can unhook my bra wherever I damn well please."

Kyle snorts far too loudly and threads his fingers through Stan's hair. Maybe he's being affectionate because he knows that it grosses Randy out. In fact, that's exactly what would give Kyle reason to be affectionate.

"Uh, hi," Stan greets and detaches himself so he can take his mom's place in the armchair. Kyle stands close by, and straightens out a picture on the wall nearby to indicate that he is absolutely not listening.

"Hey, Stan," Randy greets with a smile. He dyes his hair and wears clothes that are ten years too young for him; it would probably annoy Stan more if he had to see his dad all the time. "Good to see you."

Stan gives him a tepid smile in return and nods his head.

"I thought the boys would be with you," Randy continues.

"We were out," Stan supplies, "Gerald and Sheila are watching them." He waits a few beats before he offers, "If you're around for the night, maybe you can see them tomorrow morning."

Randy lights up at that and nods, "Yeah. Yeah, we haven't seen 'em since Christmas. That'd be great."

Already, Stan feels exhausted. This is by no means a terrible interaction either, and _still_ Stan just wants to curl up in bed with Kyle and the kids and never come out again.

"So," he drums his fingers on his knees. "What's the surprise?"

Randy and Amanda look at each other in this absolutely specific way that can't mean anything other than what they're about to say. Stan doesn't even have time to recognize, process, and react to it before Randy comes out with, "Amanda is pregnant! Isn't that great?"

Kyle responds for both him and Stan by accidentally knocking one of Sharon's knick-knacks off of the shelf above the TV and sailing to the floor.

"Shit," he mutters and stoops immediately to retrieve it, just as Stan gives a very confused, "What?"

"We're gonna have a baby!" Randy reiterates, smile just as big and wide as ever.

Great. So Stan _wasn't_ hallucinating. His eyes slip shut as the information sinks in. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thinks it might bust. There is no way in _hell_ that they're being serious, right? His dad's old, and he's already got two kids, and five grandkids. What in the _hell_ does he need another—

Stan stops the moment he opens his eyes.

His dad and Amanda look happy, and Stan can't help but wonder how. His dad may not be _old_, but definitely too old to be having a baby with a woman who's younger than his youngest kid.

Apart from that, he really doesn't know how he's supposed to respond to this. He's in his thirties; he asked for a baby brother for Christmas when he was five (because that was when Kyle got his).

There is some serious delay on this wish crap.

He snaps out of it when he realizes that his dad and Amanda are looking at him expectantly, and offers them a smile. "That's great, guys," he says and wilts in relief when Kyle glances at his watch and loudly declares, "Wow, is that the time?"

"Aw, you guys have to go?" Randy asks, but Amanda gets to that before Kyle or Stan can.

"Now, they have two babies that they have to get home to," she coos. "Plus, you and I have a few things to do tonight anyway." She pets a perfectly manicured hand over Randy's hair and gives what she obviously thinks is a sly smile.

Suddenly Stan is very ill.

Though lightheaded, he gets up to shake his dad's hand, and then to give Amanda a half-hearted 'congratulations' and a hug. Rather than wait for Kyle to do the same, he goes immediately up to his old room before his dad is even out the door and hides under his bed.

Childish, absolutely absurd, and far too dusty, sure, but it's the only thing that's going to keep him from launching into a complete nervous breakdown. Kyle is, of course, hot on his tail, and it's not another minute before he sees Kyle's shoes and his mom's socks right in his face.

"Oh, lord, what happened now?" Sharon asks.

"Leave me to die," Stan mutters in response, only then he starts coughing fit and has to scramble out anyway. Kyle helps him to his feet and picks a clump of dust off of his shirt, while Sharon crosses her arms over her chest and sighs.

"Honey, not that I'm not fond of your melodrama, but would you mind telling me what's going on?" she asks. "Normally your dad doesn't drop by without some sort of agenda."

Stan hides his face in Kyle's neck, so Kyle wraps his arms around Stan's shoulder and relays to Sharon the brief exchange with Randy.

"Oh, for the love of god," Sharon mutters, and when Stan looks over he sees her pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. "Honey, I know your dad's an idiot, but what do you care?"

Stan pulls away from Kyle and blinks a few times. "What?"

"Eh," Kyle shoves his hands in his pockets and gives Stan this apologetic look. "I mean, she's got a point, dude. You're an adult; it'd be different if you were thirteen or something, but—"

"Exactly," his mom nods.

"Ew!" Stan sticks out his tongue. "Guys, this is gross! Amanda is twenty-nine. Dad's, like… old."

"Well-said," Kyle quips, and Stan gives him a look. So, he continues a little more helpfully, "Dude, we know it's gross; no one's saying it's not."

"It's like I always tell you," his mom chimes in. "It's his life, not yours. You think I'm thrilled about this? We have our own lives, though, Stanley. And if your dad wants to make another kid with the first girl who would marry him, god help her—"

"Wh—no!" Stan exclaims. "You guys, this is fucking—gah!" He clamps his hands over his ears and screws his eyes shut.

"Stan, you're overreacting—"

"What if I'm not," Stan snaps as Kyle tries to reach out and touch him. "If anything, you guys are underreacting."

"That's not a thing, Stan," Kyle gives a frank response, despite the fact that he can be (and usually is) the absolute height of melodrama when the situation calls for it.

"Stan, you've got a family," his mom reasons. "You are a grown up. What is the grown up reaction to this situation?"

Stan almost bellows something childish and stupid, but when met with the firm and steady gazes of both his mother and Kyle, he shrinks back and mutters under his breath, "Don't overreact."

"That's right," his mom nods. "Now, you boys have had a long day, I suggest you get some rest while you can."

Kyle looks at him in a way that makes him think that that's probably the best idea. Stan lets his mom hug him and tell him everything's going to be okay, invites them over for dinner tomorrow night, and then she mutters something to Kyle on the way out that makes him laugh.

The drive back to the Broflovskis' is silent. Kyle doesn't try to pull Stan out of the foul mood he's spiraling into, and Stan doesn't want to admit that this is bugging him far more than it should. Kyle is already right enough as it is.

When they get inside, Henry and Ethan are sacked out with Indy on the floor; Ethan curled protectively around Henry and Indy nuzzled up to them both. It's legitimately one of the most precious things Stan has ever seen, and Kyle is quick to pull out his phone and snap a picture.

Sheila is in the kitchen, dressed in her nightgown and working on a crossword puzzle when they shut the door softly behind them. She tiptoes over, careful not to disturb the boys, and says, "They are just the sweetest, oh my goodness."

"Ah," Kyle nods and sets his keys on the table by the door. "So it _is _possible."

Henry is the first to stir at the sound of Kyle's voice. He detaches himself from Ethan, who wakes a moment after, and drags himself past his grandma and into Kyle's arms.

"Aw, hey derpus," Kyle chuckles as he plucks Henry off the floor. Ethan is much too big to be picked up (as he likes to remind Stan), but he is groggy and therefore especially snuggly as he latches onto Stan's leg.

"C'mere," Stan stoops and hoists Ethan up into his arms.

He is way too big to carry.

Something about that makes Stan's eyes prick with tears and hold onto him tightly.

"Daddy, ow," Ethan mutters, and Stan loosens his grip. He and Kyle trudge up the stairs and try to put the boys in Ike's room, but both refuse.

"I wanna sleep with you and daddy," Henry buries his face in Kyle's neck.

"Me too," Ethan murmurs.

"Guys, there's not enough room in daddy's old bed," Kyle says, but it's clear that the boys will not be falling asleep again without them. Stan gives Kyle a look that's met with a tired shrug. If worse comes to worse, they'll let the boys fall asleep and then put them back in their own beds.

Except that doesn't even happen. No sooner are Stan and Kyle in their pajamas and ready for bed are the four of them tucked up in Stan's old bed together. The boys are quick to fall asleep, and Kyle would be too if he didn't know Stan was still reeling over the events of the day.

"You know you're just going to be a bag and a half of dicks tomorrow if you don't sleep, right?" Kyle asks, eyes shut and hand flopped over his head. Stan grabs it and nuzzles at Henry's hair.

Kyle squeezes his hand and opens his eyes.

Stan loves Kyle's eyes.

"Worry about it tomorrow," Kyle yawns and shuts his eyes again.

It's the soundest advice Stan has gotten all night. He shuts his eyes, cuddles his baby closer, and slips off into sleep.

* * *

**Hey everyone! Thanks for reading and taking time to let me know what you think. I know my multi-chapter updates have been slow, so thank you ever so for sticking around and being patient! **


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